#Fizz is just. He's Fizz. moment of silence (joking. i love him) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rons-wheezely · 3 years

Text

224 || G.W.

George Weasley x Reader, Soulmate AU

Genre: Fluff, humor

Summary: Each soulmate pair receives a special number to them, and them only, on the day they’re born into this world. The placement on the body can vary, so people usually keep to themselves unless they fancy someone or it’s displayed somewhere public. How do you go around explaining to your best friend that he’s the one?

A/N: i have been so inactive, I’m so sorry rip I am going to try to post a fic here and there, but I’m still a student doing student things... This blog recently turned 2 years old, and has reached about 300 followers, so thank you so much for those of you who have found me in the piles of other wonderful works :) I love you all from the bottom of my heart.

--x--

“Oh, do forgive me, Georgie,” you playfully shove him out of the way. He stumbles away from the shelf containing the last package of Fizzing Whizbees in time for you to snatch it into your hands. You hear him chuckle as he regains his balance behind you. It’s suffocatingly crowded with fellow students in Honeydukes, so he leans in close so you can hear him.

His warm breath comes close to your ear, saying with a soft laugh,” At least share, alright?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully as the smile plastered on your face turned into a smirk. You make your way to the cashier with George close behind. The candy in the box shake in your hands, and the decorative ring you’re wearing on your middle finger glimmers in the shop’s light. You call over your shoulder,” If you win the next match against Slytherin, I might.”

This statement alone had George fist pump the air in satisfaction. Even if he lost, you would most likely share it anyways –– to cheer him up, of course. You two have been best friends since your first year when you cleverly evaded one of the twins’ pranks. It was a lucky guess, but the outcome left Fred and George tangled in a mess of burping up slugs for three hours. It was an easy friendship after that, other than the secret feelings you harbored for George, that is.

Soon enough, the match came and the sight was an absolutely thrilling one. You watch as each player flies by, and each time the wind sweeps your hair in every direction. Fred and George are on a spectacular streak, and they never once miss the bludger. Thankfully you had a pair of binoculars and Lee Jordan’s commentary; the team was so small in the air that it was hard to tell what was happening.

Harry Potter was no doubt going to catch the snitch, and here he comes now swooping in underneath his teammates. He’s almost flat against his broomstick, urging it to go faster before Malfoy could get to the fluttering golden speck. All eyes are on Potter, and the boy is mere inches away. Just as his nimble fingers wrap around the snitch, another Gryffindor teammate drops from the air.

You can hear the subtle gasps from a few in the crowd who noticed. The Gryffindor team were too enraptured with Harry’s catch to notice that one of them was dropping ten, twenty, thirty meters to the ground. “George!” You cried.

As if sending a telepathic message to the other twin, though it is most likely he heard you yell as clear as day, Fred swoops down to save his brother from impact. You notice now that you're standing on your feet and leaning on the railing that separates you from your best friends on the field. You watch on in horror as Fred barely makes it in time. The breath you didn’t know you were holding finally escapes you, and your surroundings come back all at once.

You hear the deafening silence and the sound of the wind blowing by. No one moves as they watch Fred land on the ground with George. It was Lee who ended the tension,” And with that, Gryffindor earns 130 points and has won the match…”

All at once, everyone in the stands scrambles to get out. Elated with Harry’s catch and the twins’ safety, the student body goes their separate ways. You follow them as well and weave your way through the crowd to get to Fred and George. Panic fills your lungs, and every fiber in your body screams to make sure they’re okay.

“Fred!” You call out,” Are you two alright?”

“Yeah, no harm done to me,” he sighs,” –– Other than this git. A bludger whacked him straight on the side and he passed out on his ride down.”

“It looks like it hurts… but it’s nothing Madame Pomfrey can’t handle, right?” You wince. You try to convince yourself that George is just sleeping a very deep, restful sleep.

“I reckon he’ll be fine, y/n.” Fred winks your way with a sly grin. “Visit him lots, yeah?”

Madame Pomfrey refused to let anyone in until she was done running some tests. When she finally let you visit, you rushed to sit next to George’s bedside. He stirred at your frantic movements and opened an eye to see you. “It’s not that bad is it?” He chuckles.

“She said that you’ve broken a few ribs, but you’ll be alright.” You smile.

George sits up slowly, pretending to be in agonizing pain. You worry for a bit and reach out to him on instinct, but he laughs and tells you he’s okay. His torso is wrapped entirely with gauze over his clothes, and there are a few bandages wrapped around his forearms as well. Pomfrey had drawn a blanket over George earlier, so the white sheet still covered the lower half of his body. A moment goes by, and you hear a soft wheeze leaving George’s lips. “You don’t suppose my soulmate is into beaten up ginger-heads, do you?”

“Well,” you mull over your words. Pretending to take his question seriously, you answer,” they would have if you were Fred..” You laugh a little as you catch the glint in his eyes –– the mischievous one you had grown to love.

“Oh, if only I looked exactly like that bloke.” He jokes. His head falls a little forward as he laughs. His gaze is drawn to his lap, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he looked like those shy love interests in romantic muggle films.

You notice that his fiery hair is covering his eyes, and your body compels you to get another glimpse of that wonderful boy’s face. Ever so gently, you reach your hand out and tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. When your fingers curve around the back of his ear, you notice a few dark marks of what looks like a tattoo. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion. You go to move more of his hair out of the way, but he turns his eyes to you.

“Are you getting handsy with me y/n? Tryin’ to make a move, are you?” He smiles, but there is a small panic in his eyes as they frantically search yours. “You could’ve just asked me out, you know.”

“Is that your soulmate mark?” You ask.

“Maybe.”

“Well,” you huff playfully,” I might be able to tell you who your soulmate is. I might cry if your soulmate is Madame Pomfrey, though.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, a playful tone in his voice.

"Georgie, please don’t tell me you have a thing for milfs.”

It takes everything in him to hold back his laughter. George pulls his hair back to reveal the numbers 224 etched behind his left ear. Your breath catches in your throat, but you try to hide your very obvious shock. 224 was a number you knew too well, and seeing that number reflected on your best friend’s skin meant that your deepest feelings were true. It’s okay to be in love with George because now... now there is chance he feels the same way.

Your mark is tattooed on the band of your middle finger, which is usually covered up by jewelry. You fidget with your rings nervously, trying to ground yourself all the while. George doesn’t pay too much attention to it when he says,“Fred has his numbers on his right ear. I might be the right-hand man, but he’s lucky enough to be the right-ear man.”

You laugh at his really bad pun,” Really? Out of all of the ear jokes, you chose that one?”

“It made you laugh, didn’t it?” He nudges you with his shoulder, and you can’t help but giggle some more.

“Would you like to hear a fun fact?” You ask. You gulp down all of the fear that has started to swallow you whole. You are George’s soulmate. The idea buzzes in your head along with a million other thoughts. George nods for you to continue, and you fight the panicked urge to scream. “...In the muggle world, they have such advanced technology.”

“Yeah, dad would know––” George interjects for a second.

“The numbers 224 actually hold a meaning to them. It’s something like a code–– it’s related to their fancy devices I think? Anyways,” you take a deep breath. You remember vividly the details your friend went to great lengths explaining to you.

“Your number is all kinds of special, y/n!” Mae beams at you. Her eyes twinkle in an amusing manner as she tries to prove herself. A soft thud could be heard when her hands meet with the common room table, and she quickly jumps to her feet. “Imagine, having such a fantastic number as that!” She exclaims with awe.

“I don’t understand?” You bemusedly remark. Why would numbers hold more meanings beyond your standard soulmate reason?

“My brother loves binary code, a certain muggle science,” she explains,” and he told me a few meanings. One of them being yours! Now, if only fate would tell us who your soulmate was...”

If Mae were in this room, she would be bursting at the seams from pure glee. You look into George’s eyes and say,” ...the numbers actually mean something along the lines of ‘Today, Tomorrow, Forever.’ It has to do with the bond you and your soulmate have together.“

He blinks once or twice before breaking out into a grin,” Okay, can you say it again but,” he emphasizes,” simpler, maybe?

“––it means that your soulmate will love an accident-prone idiot like you forever and always,” You joke halfheartedly.

The familiar gleaming smile he wore after a successful prank creeps up onto his face: one of self satisfaction and deserving of many awards based on looks alone. His smile is much gentler and you almost miss it, but a blush tints the very tips of his cheeks. “Oh? wait ‘till dad finds out that numbers have meanings to muggles. How’d you know all of this anyway?”

“Oh, it’s just something my friend talked to me about.” You dismiss his questioning gaze and clear your throat. Every second that passes makes you more and more anxious being around George, simply just by knowing you two are soulmates. It’s a dream come true, sure. But how do you go around explaining to your best friend that he’s the one?

“Are you alright, y/n?” George asks. “You seem real fidgety. Do you need to go somewhere?”

“Oh–– no, it just that,” you gulp. “Well.. I think left the Fizzing Whizbees back in my dorm room.” You lie. You know it’s in your bag with your other belongings, safely tucked away for later consumption. “Post-game snacks are essential, and I did make a promise.”

“Are you sure you left it there? I thought I saw it in your bag...” He leans over to find your bag, and sure enough, he pulls out the box of candy.

“Oh.” You look at him. There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat.

“You’ve really got to get yourself together mate–– looks like Nearly Headless Nick showed you his neck hole again or something.” George jokes to lighten the mood, but he’s right. The longer you sit there and stare at him, the more you either want to slam your lips against his or vomit profusely. You feel pale and sickly; just enough to feel the twists and turns of your stomach. Is this what having butterflies feel like? He opens the bag of candy and offers you some.

You share the box of whizbees with him, taking one out and popping them into your mouth. It fizzes and jolts a little as the sweet taste melts on your tongue. “I think maybe Fred slipped something to me earlier,” you avert your gaze,” I’m not sure.”

“Yeah, sounds like Fred.” George grabs your hand and looks you in the eyes. He’s rubbing soothing circles on your hands, and it does seem to relax some of your nerves. He looks at you softly and gently, and all at once, your anxiety starts to melt away in his presence. You almost forget why you’re so worried in the first place. “You know I’m not going anywhere. If you have to take a massive shit, I’ll wait for you.” He says as he pats your hand reassuringly.

You erupt into laughter and shove him away. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

“Nothing says true love like bowl movements, darling.”

As the laughter dies down, the somber feeling in your gut returns. It’s now or never, right? “George, I think I need to tell you something. I—“

Fred bursts into the door with Lee following shortly behind. “There’s my favorite twin!” He beams. He gets a disapproving look from Madame Pomfrey peering around the corner from her office. Fred doesn’t pay much attention, choosing to walk past her with barely a glance over his shoulder. George rolls his eyes as Fred happily trots over, spilling some liquid from two mugs in his hands. “—had to have Lee help sneak these in for the party, which you lot are missing out on.” He hands you a mug of butter beer and George, the other.

You decide to drop the subject even after George was free from the hospital bed. It’s a few weeks since then, and school has made you push those thoughts of pesky soulmates and true love aside. Of course, George kept looking at you funny, waiting for you to bring it up again. To his dismay, you didn’t.

“Alright everyone, class is dismissed.” Professor Sprout announces as she busies herself in setting up plants for the next day. It’s the last class of the day, and you couldn’t be happier. Repotting plants was hard work, and you were sweaty enough as it is. Beads of sweat dripped down the side of your face, and as much as you hated it, it did make for good eye candy across the room — namely George, although there’s a lot of dirt smudged onto his face too.

He’s cleaning up rather quickly so you call out to him,” Can you grab my rings, Georgie? They’re over there by my bag.” You had to remove jewelry in order to “safely handle” the creatures and wear proper gloves. Those of which you hastily pull off to wash your hands. The suds come and go as you lather and rinse away in the sink.

“Today, tomorrow, forever eh?” George’s deep voice rumbles in your ear. You jump a little at the sudden scare. “I think I like the sound of that, don’t you?”

You turn your head a little to the side and come very close to George’s face. You can feel his breath fanning on your skin, and his nose is just barely touching yours. You fear that if you blink, the sight in front of you will vanish. Every freckle that glitters his skin is so close you could count them like the stars and draw constellations between them if you wanted to. It’s absolutely breathtaking. Your body feels like it’s on a cloud— so feather light and airy— as he smiles at you. Your throat is dry; your tongue struggles to keep up with your thoughts. “...what?” You choke out. You cover your hands on impulse, but you know it’s too late.

“It means you’re stuck with me forever, y/n.” He grins. “Soulmate magic is no joke, you know.” He hands you your rings and walks beside you out of the greenhouse. You slip the rings on to your middle finger where it’s always resided, deciding to fidget with it a little.

Nothing should be different. You’re walking with George in the hallways like you always do, your hair is no different than yesterday, and class was the same as an other day. And yet your heart is beating faster and the sun seems to shine brighter. The grass is greener and the lake bluer than it was this morning. Words remain unspoken, but the truth is there. His fingers are interlocked with yours. 224.

647 notes · View notes

forestcat000 · 2 years

Note

for the ship thing,

donna helping logan keep track of his wares

aphmau taking the day off from being lord to give zoey a break

brian and zenix helping patch eachother up after sparring

janus picking up flowers for zane, knowing he hates dandelions and calls them weeds, but they both still like eachother :) it's like an inside joke

aaron and lily spending the day with their son jacob

dante getting nekoette-tan to help nana with baking

laurence messing with garroth over the day to reveal a suprise later that night

emmalyn and kenmur taking turns reading out loud

kiki and bodolf taking a nap together

hope you like these, you don't have to do all of them but if there's one you like go ahead :) {tried to pick popular-ish ships, ill happily send in some mys ones too!}

First of all this all sounds so cute and i will try to do as many as possible second of all thank you but be warned i didn't watch much of diaries but i did finish rebirth. so a lot of what i know about mcd characters is from wikis so some of what i write may not make sense. also i would love mystreet ones since that's what I'm most familiar with

zenix and Brian prompt

Zenix pov

me and Brian where sparring and i may or may or may not have gotten a bit rough....okay i got pretty nasty. Brian was lying on the ground bleeding from some cuts on his hand and head.

i went to get a med kit and came back brain was now conscious and sitting up.

i bent down to him and started cleaning his wounds he looked surprised when i did this sorta cute to. "um what are you doing" he said with a blush as i was cleaning his wounds. i rolled my eyes at this and "Fixing you DUH" after i said that there was a pause it was sorta unsettling "you don't have to help me i could fix myself up" he said breaking the silence. i took out some disinfectant and said "yes i do now shut up this is gonna hurt"

he winced as i pored it on him. after his wounds stopped fizzing i put the bandages on "there how do you feel?" i asked. he smiled at me and said "i feel much better, thank you zen" then he leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek. after a few seconds Brian got up and ran away leaving me alone and confused

laurence and garroth prompt

garroth pov

it was a beautiful day the sky was clear birds were singing people were happy everything was amazing except for the shadow knight who was hovering over my shoulder and poking me whenever i was trying to do something. i was talking to Brian and telling him where to patrol all the while laurence was poking and tugging at me after i finished talking to Brian i turned to laurence and said "do you mind?" he looked at while grinning wide and said "nope i got all day"

the day continued like this laurence poking and being a brat and me glaring at him.

the day was almost at an end when laurence grabbed my hand and started running towards the edge of the village "LAURENCE WHERE THE CREAMPUFFS ARE WE GOING?" i yelled. laurence did not answer instead running faster

once we reached a clearing laurence stopped. i looked around and saw a blanket on the ground surrounded with candles there was a little basket. laurence looked at me smiling and said "i thought maybe we could watch the sun set and look at the stars" i looked at him pausing for a moment before saying "that sounds wonderful".

we spent the rest off the day and night there cuddling and watching the stars

it was a beautiful day

zane and janus prompt

janus pov

i was sitting in the okasis gardens with zane. we were outside because zane just got over his most recent sickness and after being confined to his room for 2 months he wanted some fresh air. zane was sitting on a bench reading a book.

i was sitting next to him until i saw something, something that made me smile.

i walked over to the bushes and starting picking the dandelions smiling. i made sure i only picked the prettiest ones. ones without petals missing ones without tears on the leaves. after a few minutes i had 12 PERFECT dandelions so i put them together and walked back over to MY prince and handed him the bouquet of dandelions he picked up the bouquet smelled them, then said in the softest voice ever....."disgusting"

even with his answer i could see his dimples poking out from behind his mask i could tell he was smiling.

and i started smiling

i love my prince.

sorry i didn't do all of them but since i did not know some of the other characters i didn't do them but i hope you like the ones i did do. thanks for the requests.

#aphmau zane #aphmau zenix #aphmau garroth #aphmau brian #aphmau laurance #garrance #garroth x laurence #zane x janus #aphmau janus #janus the silver death #zenix x brian

25 notes · View notes

sapnaps-marshmallow · 3 years

Note

Hello i wanted to make a request. Imagine c!Quackity didn't have a tub growing up, only a shower, and so he doesn't know how to relax in one. So the reader is stressed one day and wants to take a bath with Quackity. So reader pulls out some bath stuff and Quackity is like "WTF is this?" and thats all I can think of rn. Also can the reader use fae/faer pronouns? -possibly 🌸 anon?

ofc :D i loved discussing this with you to begin with so writing this has been a blast!! and no need for the ‘possibly’, since you are the first anon, 🌸anon!

˚̩͙⚛ ͙*̩̩̥˚̩͙⚛ ͙*̩̩̥˚̩͙⚛ ͙*̩̩̥˚̩͙⚛ ͙*̩̩̥

cw: none, its just sfw bathing

C!Quackity x Reader: Bath Time

There was a soft sigh as Quackity finished his daily work, pushing the final papers away from him in an attempt to distance himself from work. It was his late day of the week, most of the others in Las Nevadas had gone to their homes for the evening and he was happy to do the same.

He opened the door of his house to silence, which was strange but not enough to bother him. Quackity took off his shoes and jacket, going into the kitchen and grabbing a glass of ice water. He tipped it back, trying to quench the thirst of his walk.

“Quackity!”

He spluttered and coughed, looking at the doorway to find (y/n). Fae looked concerned as faer walked over and moved some of his hair out of his face.

“You look so tired.”

He scoffed and smirked slightly. “You don’t look so hot yourself, mi vida.”

Fae chuckled and playfully shoved him, watching as he smiled in return. “Why don’t you join me in the bath? It’ll help both of us relax some. I can even make it all bubbly!”

Quackity blinked, his eyes blank. “Bath?”

“You have to know what a bath is.”

“Yeah! Yeah yeah, I just don’t really know much else. Like, what do you do in a bath? Just sit there?” He rubbed the back of his neck, his smile turning more awkward with the passing moments.

“Have you never taken a bath?” (y/n) asked, tilting faers head slightly.

“Would it be weird if I said no?”

Fae paused before reaching out and grabbing his hand. “You’re coming with me. Tonight, we’re gonna take a relaxing bath and then get in pajamas and cuddle.”

There was a pause as he settled into the warm bath. After a moment, his expression softened.

“This is nice.”

“See? I know you’d like it,” fae joked and reached out of the bath. The bubbles threatened to spill out as faer grabbed a bath bomb. It was a purple rose shape and they handed it to Quackity.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He sniffed it slightly, a soft hum in response to the smell.

(y/n) giggled. “Put it in the water.”

After a moment of uncertainty, Quackity held the bath bomb underwater. It began to fizz and turn the water a light purple shade. He tilted his head slightly and watched as it fizzed heavily and the surface of the water bubbled. Purple bubbles came to the surface and joined the already made bubbles.

“Do you like it?”

“It feels funny on my hands, is that why it’s called a bomb?”

“I mean, probably.” (y/n) replied and laughed softly, watching Quackity continue to have a fun time with the random bath products.

#mcyt #quackity #quackity x reader #x reader #x y/n #quackity x y/n #dsmp #dsmp x reader #dsmp x y/n #mcyt x you #dsmp x you #quackity x you #answered asks #🌸anon

72 notes · View notes

differentkettleoffishalltogether · 3 years

Text

Update

Hey I’m not gone! I’ve just been working out my notice in my old job and it’s been a lot of hours and then I got vaccinated and felt like death on my one day off 😖

So I will have the next chapter of An Inconvenient Affection up soon, I’ve got the first 3000 words of it written already, I just haven’t had the time to finish it. If it helps to know, it’s almost entirely fluff and smut 🥰

But as a little treat I wanted to show you guys what I had originally written for chapter 2 of this series. I wanted to make it more of a slow burn so I ended up scrapping it, but I thought I’d show you anyway

Alternate timeline under the cut:

“Well making drinks isn’t the only skillset a bartender possesses” he looks at her quizzically. “You gotta be able to talk to people, or let them talk to you I guess. It’s part of the appeal, getting people to trust you, to like you, and maybe a few drinks in you get them to confide in you, slip up and spill something if you’re lucky” she explains.

“You really have done this before” he raises his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“I told ya so, and on that note, tell me what’s on your mind, what brought you in here this evening?” She takes a dishcloth and begins to wipe up the little spill on the table. Spencer just lets out a small chuckle but stifles it when she looks at him. Her eyes are trained on his, awaiting his response.

“Oh! You’re serious.” He takes a beat, “Well, um, I guess my wife and I have been going through a bit of a rough patch lately” he tries his best to make it sound genuine, but something about the bubbles in the drink and Y/N in her sweats opposite him has him feeling a little giddy.

“Oh that’s terrible I’m sorry to hear that” she sympathizes quickly, encouraging him to keep talking.

“Yeah she’s been sleeping around behind my back, should’ve seen it coming really” he takes a long gulp from his glass, staring into the fizz at the bottom.

“What do you mean?” She probes, “Was she the town bicycle before you got hitched?” She says it as a joke but Spencer’s head just snaps up to look at her with confusion.

“What?”

“Everyone got a ride?” She wiggles her eyebrows as she explains and he can only roll his eyes in response, his face screwing up a little with distaste.

“No!” He’s quick to shoot it down, “Nothing like that!” He waves his hand to dismiss it before downing the remainder of his drink. “She was always out of my league” he says it with a shrug like it doesn’t break her heart a little.

“Spencer” she pleads, it comes out a sort of gentle whisper, “I’m sure that’s not true”

He shakes his head, “Nope, she always has been. To be honest I don’t even know why she liked me in the first place! She’s—” he takes a moment to think, “she’s so incredibly kind, and warm, and she’s so much smarter than I am” he smiles to himself.

“Well that’s definitely not right” Y/N says in an effort to derail him, Spencer’s tolerance for alcohol has always been bordering non-existent. She didn’t want him to say anything he wouldn’t feel good about later. But it was so hard to ask him to stop.

“It is, she’s just not one to gloat about it” he thinks for a second, “y’know what, she actually is one to gloat” he says it like he’s just realized it himself and Y/N lets out a small snort of laughter. “But that’s part of her charm too, she’s funny. The kind of funny that makes my cheeks hurt whenever we hang out.” His lips spread in a wide smile that reaches his eyes as he says it, just from thinking about her. “And on top of all of that, she’s pretty. Like so pretty that when I first saw her I couldn’t remember my own name” He goes to take a sip from his glass once again before noticing it’s empty. Placing it back down on the table with an over dramatic sullen expression. “Shame she had to go cheat on me, but it’s understandable I guess. She’s her, and I’m just—”

“An idiot” she offers and he starts to laugh, nodding his head, “don’t agree with me you fool!” She reaches across the table to punch his arm gently.

“You’re an idiot for thinking about yourself like that. Like you’re not the most special person. Like you’re not deserving of love, or attention, like you’re not desirable Spence” she reaches out to grab his hand and he just stares down at them, not daring to make eye contact. He had just humiliated himself by accident and had no idea how to walk it back.

“Y/N I—” he whispered but nothing else came out.

“Shut up Spencer” she sighed, “you’re my best friend for so many reasons and I can’t have you thinking about yourself like that” her words of reassurance do little to actually help him feel any better.

He felt like he’d just made this horrifically sappy declaration of love to his best friend and now he was being lectured on his self deprecating tendencies.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have said anything” he pulls his hand out from her grip, and rising up from the table. “I think I should probably get some rest, it’s been a long day” he wipes his already sweaty palms against his pajama bottoms.

Y/N clambers to her feet to follow him but he reaches his bedroom a little too quickly, shutting the door behind him. It’s not dramatic or petulant, the action just wreaks of upset more than anything.

Y/N didn’t want to pry, especially if he didn’t want to talk but she had no idea what she’d said wrong. For a second there it felt like Spencer might’ve felt the same way she did, she could see that glassy look in his eyes that she recognized from her own. But he’d withdraw as quickly as he’d opened up.

She took some time to think, gathering up the things from the makeshift bar and returning them to their homes in the kitchen. She busied herself until she found herself staring down at the couch, at the little pillow and duvet folded neatly and ready for use in the armchair next to it. She’d slept here so many times before but didn’t want to do it right now.

Carried on an uncharacteristic wave of courage she marched up to Spencer’s door, knocking loud enough that if he was already asleep she had a hope of waking him. He hadn’t done anything other than sit on the edge of his bed and stare at the doorknob since he’d come in. Willing himself to get up and just go back out there.

Thankfully he didn’t have to. All he had to do was open the door to a waiting Y/N, arms awkwardly fidgeting at her sides. He didn’t say anything when he opened the door, just waited patiently. There was a small lull of silence before she spoke.

“Just to clarify” she cleared her throat, “was that all about— were you— did you mean all of that?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. He nodded when he didn’t quite have the words yet.

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just, had to say it sometime”

“Oh god you are an idiot” she breathes out before lunging at him, pulling him down by the lapels of his pajama shirt to capture his lips in a tentative but sweet kiss.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #an inconvenient affection #aia

143 notes · View notes

photiniainsummer · 3 years

Text

Under the Mask

Rating: Teen and Up (for non-con elements)

Summary: So here you are. Playing the love interest to his hero. Your stakes for flubbing your lines? Erasure from the fabric of existence, from the minds of anyone who had ever known or cared about you.

Needless to say, the balcony sure makes a nice break from everything.

You try to sneak a break from your role only for the Actor to start playing from the heart. What happens when he lets his mask fall for a moment?

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 4870

Author’s Note: Warnings for non-con elements (and sort of kind of enjoying them?) It's complicated enough that if it really troubles you no matter how mild, absolutely skip this one! Really it's just maintenance of a fake relationship, but still. God I love writing this slimy man!! My Actor is heavily inspired by smiledog15578's interpretation/art of him, so if you haven't seen their art but you're seeing this - WHAT ARE YOU DOING PLEASE FOLLOW THEM

Also posted to AO3!

You sip your drink without tasting it. Even its fizz barely registers. You’re much more conscious of the cool air running across your bare collar, bracing you when the alcohol threatens to dull your senses. The breeze’s tendrils raise goosebumps in its wake, and you savor them. Somehow, it’s a comfort, the reminder that you’re still delicate, living, squishy against the hard, bright smiles of the tanned and coiffed creatures inside - the attendees of Mark’s party. With the band bumping and a few people having taken to moving closely together on the dance floor, you’d seen your opportunity to slip out of the actor’s grip and catch your breath under the evening sky. The wide, open-air balcony that circles the ever-flowing infinity pool is the only place you’ve been able to find solace these days. Even with it ending in a dizzying drop into the valley below, the balcony provides an uninhibited view of the sky that almost makes you forget just how trapped you are here.

It had been a party just like this one. You had convinced the others, mainly Dark, to let you sneak in. The actor had been playing everything close to his chest for months, his videos and work devoid of any hints about his plans. As much as he likes to tease information about the bond he shares with the entity like a weird joke, even those had gone silent. Desperate, you’d come up with the hare-brained idea to secure an invitation to one of his lavish, exclusive do’s and use the chaos of the event as a cover for some snooping. He hadn’t discovered you hiding out at the Manor yet, so you’d thought it unlikely that he’d recognize you or pay you much attention at all. Worse case scenario, he’d find you poking around and realize you were working for his self-styled “nemesis” and Dark would use his own powers to teleport you out. Or Wilford could crashing in, one.

Needless to say, nothing had gone to plan. Not only had Mark already known exactly who you were, but he had been ready for you. When he’d confronted you in a side room and you’d pulled the mental rip cord for Dark to get you out, Mark had deflected his “villain”-’s attempts as easily as one shooed away a fly. Your mental connection had gone dead, severed by something as shadowy as your compatriot, but oily. It had twisted in your mind, silencing that bond, and… Well. You had been at the actor’s mercy ever since. You hadn’t felt the ego’s mental tug in months.

You had no idea how quiet it would be, to be truly alone in your head.

Mark hadn’t been content to lock you up somewhere deep and dark and throw away the key, either. No, that would have been too merciful for him. Instead, he’d taken the time to engineer a uniquely tortuous hell just for you, placing you at the center of what he called his ‘settling down arc.’ By his measure, he’d just about gotten all he could out of his rich, young bachelor era, and it was time to find someone to help him calm down and ease into his more mature years. And then here you came, practically throwing the opportunity to show you and the egos - all who dared to oppose him, basically - how pointless trying to resist him was right into his lap, while simultaneously giving him a new plaything with which he could further his image.

So here you are. Playing the love interest to his hero. Humanizing him, softening him to anyone who cares to look. Your stakes for flubbing your lines? Erasure from the fabric of existence, from the minds of anyone who had ever known or cared about you. That, and the knowledge - however briefly he allows you to be conscious of it before eradicating you - that you had totally, utterly failed. Not just yourself and your newfound friends, but the world.

Needless to say, the balcony sure makes a nice break from everything.

Others had had the same idea, apparently. Not with the same context, of course, but with similar results. When you turn from the scrubby California landscape, you see that a little group of new-in-town actors are bunched up around the pool, most of them hotly debating the morality of eating honey. From their volume and intensity, it sounds like the evening’s libations are catching up with them. Despite their friend’s heated tones, two women have broken off from the group and settled pool-side, having removed their shimmery heels to dangle their feet in the pool’s cool waters. You watch as their perfectly smooth legs stir the water so it swirls around their dark skin and smooths out the kinks of the evening. Their voices are deep and soft, murmuring almost conspiratorially between themselves. As you watch them, you find yourself entranced in just how totally invested they are in the other. What can they be talking about so intensely as they smile such bright smiles at each other?

The one enjoyable bit of the whole affair is seeing all the fresh and hopeful energy in the up-and-coming young things Mark invites. You’d learned pretty quickly that if you’ve seen one champagne pyramid, you’ve seen them all, and so without any real interest in the wheeling and dealing of the industry, the antics and conversations of the glamorous evenings had quickly grown stale. Somehow, even the undercurrent of anxiety knowing you were walking an almost literal tightrope with no safety net below has grown dull, the heart-pounding stress blurring to a hum in the background with the rest of the shop talk.

But the pure, humming energy these long-legged and well-crafted beings exude is potent, magnetic. And they are here to work.

Most of the time, at least.

Under sunny smiles and easy conversation, fresh faces hold eyes that burn with a hunger the voracity of which you have rarely seen outside of fresh law school graduates in the thick of the campaign trail, convinced they’re the change the world needs. Mark prides himself on these things being the most fun way of networking in L.A., and people seem to agree - a lot does actually get done between rounds of poker and showy drinks that never seem to run dry. In the months spent living with the actor (read: being his captive arm candy), you’ve seen mousy writers with blockbuster scripts connected to slick studio executives, glitzy Hollywood sweethearts fall in and out of lust, a hundred new story ideas and collaborations born. All under the auspices of a few well-placed introductions by the host himself. It’s dizzying to say the least, even to your reporter’s eye - its speed and viciousness makes politics feel about as plodding as a small town’s obituaries.

It can be a bit much, sometimes. And stomach-churningly harsh. Although you know it adds to the aloof outsider reputation you’ve earned, much to Mark’s chagrin, you can’t help but slink away when the conversations take that softer, darker tone, signposted by a well-timed, so, did you hear…? You much prefer to let the chatter of the party’s guests turn to a bleary hum than try to keep up with what wicked thing someone had sub-tweeted, conspiratorial voices dulling the snap of the band’s snares and blending into the deep lilt of the bass.

You wonder, idly, if the women cooling their feet in the ever-flowing pool will have their names trending this week for interpersonal drama. If their little group will disintegrate over bad vibes and social media carnage before the month is out. It’s only ever sad to watch when they don’t know the game they started playing - usually, if they’ve gotten onto Mark’s list, they’re quick enough to know how things work, but you’ve seen enough well-meaning people put themselves out there only for the world to pull them apart at the seams. It never gets less sad, even if they know what they’re getting into… but you often wonder how those that don’t know had made it so far without being aware of how the city’s weird little bubble of media mix was just as likely to mint them as an icon as it was to grind them up.

One of the women’s wide-eyed gaze flickers from her friend to you, apparently having felt you watching. Her eyes are large and bright and perfectly made-up - they feel like spotlights as they fall on you. Embarrassment threatens to crawl up your neck, but you force your expression to stay placid as you give her a mild smile and lift your glass. The other woman turns to see what’s captured her friend’s attention, and her eyes register obvious surprise before she catches herself and mirrors your polite smile. The first woman finally joins in with a delicate wave, seemingly star-struck with your attention. If you stare any longer, you’ll practically be inviting them over to talk, so you’re quick to let the moment end, intentionally but casually letting your gaze wander off as if you’re observing the party indoors.

They had done a pretty good job of playing it cool, you’ll give them that. They didn’t immediately explode into giggles or wild whispers and poorly hidden grins. But even now, you can hear how the women’s soft tones edge up the register into trilling excitement - did you see? That’s Mark’s partner. They smiled at us.

You hold it in. Sip your drink. The liquid rolls down your throat.

Mark’s partner. Gosh, if they knew.

Although he glamors and makes himself up enough to look and feel perfectly alive, you’ve been mostly inoculated against the entity’s mind warping abilities thanks to your low-level exposure in the Manor. So when his arms suddenly wind around your waist from behind, his solid body curling to your back, it makes you take a hard breath, hand gripping the fine stem of your drink glass. Not only can you feel how he carries a horrid chill in his skin, but the chaotic pull of the otherworldly thing under it all. Mark’s oily chuckle rolls over your ear as he presses in close.

“Chilly, pumpkin? You’re trembling, let me warm you up.”

You manage to keep the tension in your muscles from reaching your face, slipping readily into an easy if long-suffering smile. You’ve had enough time to practice - forcing yourself to relax despite the call of the void has become second nature. Even if being encircled in his arms is your own personal hell, the world can’t know that. Not if you want to stay alive.

You’re meant to be in love. The grand, romantic actor with an old soul and the private, down-to-earth reporter. It has to look as good as it sounds.

“Not cold, just thinking,” you murmur, playing off your tension as just having been startled. You settle back into Mark’s chest and he squeezes you with a little pleased hum. You’ve gotten good at this game. The women by the pool laugh softly, excitedly, and you can see their heads tilting toward each other as they try to act like they aren’t watching you two practically snuggling at the far edge of the balcony. “We have an audience,” you warn him, as if he didn’t already know, wasn’t feeding on the raw energy of two obvious fans tittering over having ‘caught’ him and his partner exchanging a rather intimate moment.

“You do that too much,” he hums, turning his head down to press his lips along your exposed neck. Ugh. He’s really showboating for them. You inhale steadily, looking away and willing it to be over. Mark’s lips drag so slowly over your neck, your revealed collarbones, your body wanting to writhe out of this touch that feels so mortally wrong.

“Pay attention?” you quip, hoping to de-escalate his affections.

“Think.” His nose brushes over the curve of your shoulder. It’s almost indecent, how he holds you by the middle, pressing you to his body as he methodically works over your bare skin. You suppress the urge to jerk your shoulder up and into his broad nose. “You should relax… You do remember this is meant to be a party, right?”

His hands begin to roam, dragging over your sides just to feel. He’s agreed not to touch you in private - he’s not a monster, not like that. Besides, this is a fully for-the-public-eye kind of deal. What good would it do to lay his claim when no one was around to see? And lay claim he does, taking full advantage when you’re ‘on’ in front of his little Hollywood friends.

You want nothing more than to sink your elbow into his tender middle, but instead turn the relaxed little smile you’ve practiced so well to him. Your face is a perfect mask of young love. “If you don’t cut it out, I’m going to smash this glass and use it to cut off these grabby little hands of yours.”

Mark looks up from his place against your delicate skin, deep brown eyes meeting your own. This close, you can see the dark tinge of red that circles his pupil. And with that look, you’re caught, suddenly and keenly aware of how inhuman the thing holding you truly is, for all its practiced movements. It may seem human, but some animal part of your brain knows just from meeting its gaze how dangerous, how not right it is. How it could pull you apart in front of god and everyone if it likes. How it could swallow up all physical traces of you and ensure any mental ones are wiped clean from reality just as easily as it could lick your blood from the balcony’s tiles.

And yet, it smiles at you. It pulls back enough so you can see just how amused it is by your threat. Your body threatens to shiver in pure revulsion, like a thing possessed. It narrows its eyes and it coos, “Ooh, you know I love it when you talk mean to me. Give me a kiss.”

Your own eyes crinkle as you return the look, his smile, fight back the existential horror. “No,” you laugh lowly, although your mouth moves like ‘yes.’ “You need to cool it.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Can you remember the last time you saw a couple in public practically spooning?” you prod, carefully trying to undo his grasp. Mark only holds tighter, tugging you closer. “It’s just a little much.”

“Maybe we’re a different kind of couple, then. Am I really expected to not hold you and shower you with affection when you look so totally ravishing?” he rumbles, dipping back down to kiss much more firmly up the column of your neck, to nuzzle in behind your ear. You can’t hide the embarrassed flush that follows his lips and heats your face, now, turning away from the man and the roiling, dark energy that threatens to suck you in. Worse, you can practically feel the gaggle of young actors watching, now, the whites of their eyes flickering in the low light as they snag glimpses of the display.

It always has to be a show, with Mark.

His voice is perfectly tuned, his timbre so subtly heated. “Why don’t we call it an early night…?”

You despise him. You really do. Completely and utterly. For all the hurt he’d caused, then and now - ripping apart his friends, corrupting them into crude mockeries of themselves, treating them like puppets playing cheap characters in his charade of a life, dragging innocent people from their own lives and molding them into versions of himself - and for what? For fear of losing whatever made him, him.

As if there was anything left.

He has to be the most twisted, most self-absorbed, most out-of-his-mind thing you’ll ever have the misfortune to meet.

...

And yet.

And yet…

He knows what works. At least, physically. Even with your disgust held so strongly in mind, that warm tone sends a pang of heat through you. Your chest is tight. You’re wanting for breath. Wanting to turn inwards and closer towards that never-ending void that beckons so sweetly, that promises only satisfaction with what you’ll find.

It’s a cruel skill, to know what physical buttons to push to get the reaction he wants. What makes him a good actor makes him the most despicable of captors.

But you’ve learned. Well enough to know this is just a reaction. Just a reflex, even - biological responses to biological stimuli. They pass quickly, if you can get him to pause in his onslaught. Usually getting him talking does the trick, too eager to be clever that he forgets what he’s doing, and his breath against your ear turns from sultry to muggy, his grip from firm and possessive to hard, grasping. Reality returns, and you roll your eyes at Mark, unbothered. “You know that whatever you’re implying won’t happen, even if we did call it. So… what, you’re tired of this bunch already?”

Mark seems displeased to have been knocked off his rhythm so easily, humming in mild annoyance. But he settles down against you, easing off the groping to simply cling. He tilts his head against yours with a small breath. You feel very much like a teddy bear caught in the arms of a tired child. “Sort of. They’re a good mix, but the… vibe is off. I can’t put my finger on why, though. Maybe I should have asked the producer group to come along…”

“Ugh, no, don’t you remember how drunk they got last time? It was miserable. Plus they brought all that cocaine.” The actor against your back only chuckles at the memory.

“Oh, don’t be such a square. Even I keep a little around. You know how much we like our caffeine,” he teases, naming the thing that lives under his skin. “It’s just the next step up, really.”

You shake your head. “Keep telling yourself that. Doesn’t change how wild they got.”

“And may get again. You’ll be seeing a good bit more of them sooner than later, Bella and Grant are doing that new mini-series I’m in.” You groan audibly.

“You can’t make better friends? Different connections?”

“Not ones that will do the projects I want to do, snookums,” he chides, pressing another kiss behind your ear. You wrinkle your nose at the pet name - they’re only getting worse as time drags on. “Anyway, yes, fine, I’m bored, can’t you say you have a headache or something? I can play doctor… Make you groan in a nice way…” His tone grows warm once more.

“You know that you’re the host, right? You can just say you aren’t feeling well and they’ll accept it - I don’t have to play scapegoat all the time.”

Mark sighs dramatically, and you can feel the thinly-veiled annoyance in his gaze without needing to see it. You’re honestly surprised at how much leeway he gives you. You don’t dare to think about it often, since it only serves to reinforce your sneaking suspicion: he wants you to want this, whatever it is, as much as he does.

“Darling,” he interjects, thankfully interrupting that particular train of thought. “That would make me look weak, pitiful… Or worse, boring. A stick in the mud, even.” He gives a mock shiver. “But if you do it, I win sympathy points and everyone sees what a thoughtful boyfriend I am. I’d even drag myself away from all this just to dote on you…” He squeezes you just on the edge of too-tight. You have to suppress a cringe at how your skin aches under his touch, keeping up a blithe smile.

How much longer until he squeezes the life out of you and inhales you like so much prey?

Still, you aren’t about to let Mark just use you however he likes. He’s a good actor, but for all his conniving, his storylines could use a bit of work. Summoning up all your charm, knowing you’ve already pushed things a bit tonight, you prod at his logic. “But I’ve done it enough that they’ll know it’s just an excuse… Or think I’m chronically ill.” Mark falls silent, the tell-tale sign of his mental gears turning. Shit. “Do not make that a subplot. Simplicity is more believable, remember.”

Another annoyed little huff against your skin. “It would be interesting,” he grumbles, but you press on, unfazed by his pouting.

“If you lean on the truth a little more, that you aren’t feeling well, they’ll take it better. You’re taking your health seriously, you’ve got meetings tomorrow, and. Well… Maybe I encouraged you to take it easy,” you offer. “I can be the thoughtful one for once, attentive, a good influence…?”

As much as it pains you to initiate further contact, you can feel your own momentum and decide to run with it. Twisting in your fake-boyfriend’s hold so your hand can find his cheek, you pull a concerned look. Mark had been making to protest, his mouth beginning to form a counter-argument, but at your touch, he falls silent. His mouth is slightly open as his eyes… is that actual surprise? They’re as dark and as strange as before, but for a moment…

… for a moment, they looked soft.

It fades as quickly as it appeared, but he continues to stare with confusion and something you can’t fully describe. Not quite defiance. Not quite warmth. Then, your body moves without you having to think, and your manicured thumb (shaped and polished at his insistence, but subtly so at your own) brushes across his calculatedly-stubbled cheek. For a moment, nothing happens. The man merely stares, his body oddly still as you touch him. The void beneath is deathly silent, as if it has retreated from roiling immediately under his skin to curl up somewhere deep below.

And then it’s Mark’s turn to surprise you. He melts. A soft, almost shaky breath slips from between his lips and his eyes fall shut. His head leans into your touch, heavy. You would think it was just more acting if not for how his shoulders slump and he seems to deflate under your hand. Around you, the hum of the party ticks back up, the attendees having their attention returned to their own control, no longer commanded by Mark’s need to perform and blissfully unaware of anything out of the ordinary having happened.

When he finally speaks, even his voice comes out different. He’s not playing host, not being love-struck boyfriend. It’s almost gentle, a low murmur still rich in his chest but with none of the usual showmanship behind it.

“...I am tired,” he confesses.

Your mouth is dry. It takes everything to formulate a response. Without hesitation, now, your thumb strokes steadily across his cheekbone, as if soothing. The thing below feels like a distant memory. The vaguest crash of waves in the distance.

“It… It’s all right, to rest,” you finally manage. His eyes open just a crack, and maybe it’s the funny shadows of the balcony, but his eyes are so brown. Not that rich, dark color that edges on red. Just… normal. Soft, plain, simple almost.

What is happening?

“Will you help me?” he murmurs, turning slightly into your palm. “I… I want to, I can, I’m just not totally sure…”

You can’t help but be suspicious. Softening like this under the simplest of affections is one thing, but uncertainty in dealing with guests? A chance to perform? Play a brand new role? Surely Mark isn’t so easily undone. Have you been so perfectly emotionally cut off that the slightest show of concern renders him helpless? It’s not like you’ve withheld touch from him in public - you’ve leaned into his chest whenever he holds you, obediently curled your fingers into his when he takes your hands. And yet…

Have I ever willingly touched him?

You can’t think of a single time. No matter how hard you imagine.

Has he really wanted this? Like this?

Your silence brings a small wrinkle to his brow. His eyes try to read your expression, hunting. His voice, forming your name, brings you back with how his mouth seems to hold it like an offering.

“I. Yes?” It feels too quick, like you’ve waved away some precious, perfumed smoke. Your chest feels tight. He seems hesitant to repeat himself, beginning to withdraw. Realizing, your hand follows his face when he moves away, keeping the contact. His gaze returns. Still searching.

Whatever this is, whatever is happening, it’s new, and you aren’t about to lose the first opportunity to understand him further. Not with how drastic a change this is.

You will your voice to come out normally, softly. “...of course I’ll help you. We can make the rounds together. I’ll make sure the crew knows, keeps everyone happy, and sees them out later. We’ll… be honest, yeah? You had a long day and another’s coming tomorrow, and… I saw how tired you were, so I suggested an early night. And you’re listening to me, for once.”

Mark sighs a half-laugh through his nose, eyes sliding shut once more. Why do you feel deprived, somehow? But a smile curls his lips with none of the usual grease. “I’ve listened to you before.”

“Sometimes. You take edits all right, but outright suggestions…” This is surreal. Beyond strange, it’s downright weird. Was this all you’d had to do to dispel the thing below? Mark chuckles, practically nuzzling into your palm.

“Touché. I can be a little stubborn.”

“A little? Are we talking about the same guy? You almost walked out on that series because they wanted to cut your character’s family for time.”

Just like that, some of his fire returns, eyes snapping open and looking at you very seriously. Not angry, but solemn. “That was vital to his motivation and changed his entire-”

And you’re laughing. Like, properly, actually laughing. Maybe it’s the strangeness of it all, the impossibility of whatever’s just happened, but you can’t hold it in. You release his face to support yourself on him, holding on as the giggles overtake you. He’s just so immediately serious after acting like a bunch of unset Jell-O you turned out too soon, and it hits your funny bone just right. You haven’t laughed like this since…

Well. Since he trapped you here.

Shit. What are you doing? You pull yourself together, sobering as you remember just who the man you’re holding on to is, just what he’s done to make any of this be happening right now. You’re keenly aware of his hands steadying you, the sort of needy way his eyes linger on you, and…

And the pull. The sick, dreadful feeling as if you’re standing on the edge of something very high up. The call of the void, beckoning you to just take that last step. To follow it into thin air. To feed it whatever time you might have had left.

You feel ridiculous for ever having forgotten, even for such a brief moment. You take your hands back, step back, putting distance between your bodies. Mark, to his credit, doesn’t stop you. He just watches, his gaze growing distant. Brighter, colder. Your mouth is dry. You can’t look at him, drop your eyes to the concrete below.

“...we. Are you…”

You aren’t sure what to say. You just feel empty.

He’s silent for a moment. Then he exhales, taking back up his cane. He must have left it to one side to cozy up behind you. “...only an hour or so left, anyway. They’ll go home soon.” You lift your eyes enough to see that his hand is tight on the jeweled head as he leans on the heavy bit of wood, making up for the bad leg of the body that isn’t his. His speech is plain, clipped, simply conveying information now. “No point in wandering around explaining and saying goodbyes. It’s not like they’ll remember anything, everyone’s drunk anyway. I’ll tell the staff to see everyone out. You can go upstairs, if you’re done.”

Why does it sting. You’ve never opened up enough to let it. And now his words sit like shards of glass in your chest. As if some delicate thing had exploded inside, its minute pieces bright, sharp, burrowing in as much as you try to get them out.

So you just nod, feeling even more ridiculous for whatever thoughts are coursing through you. They blur as the drinks you’d untastingly consumed catch up with you, making them dance faster and faster, dizzying in how they come and go. You manage a mumbled ‘good night’ before making a beeline towards the private elevator up to your room. Its thin, sleek doors slide open, revealing the softly lit, quiet inside. You gratefully ensconce yourself in it, the chaos of the party growing muffled as you tap the proper button.

For some reason, you turn, looking back to the spot where you and Mark had stood.

He’s already gone, the balcony empty, now, with the pretty young things having melted back into the crowd.

The doors close.

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #actor mark #actor!mark #ego fanfiction #fanfiction #mad market pliers ramblings #is it ego fic if the man in question isn't technically an ego but THE ego #haha i really think i am such a funny little girl

55 notes · View notes

sp00kworm · 3 years

Text

Clove Cigarettes

Pairing: Male Vampire (Clarence Marston) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Violence, Blood Drinking, Lewd Content mention.

Part of The Black Dahlia Series

----

---

The room smelled like overpowering lavender. Next to the burning sticks of incense there was a number of long, black candles, the ends burning with small flames. Black wax dripped over the sides of the vanity, and Cal swept back into the room with a soft rumble. He couldn’t remember how long he had been coming and going.

“Mmm.” the woman on the bed moaned, “Cal.” she stirred from her sleep, exposing her pale neck, littered with fangs marks, two puncture holes were bruised and sore, barely scabbed over from his indulgences.

“I’m here.” he rumbled as her hand flopped into his own, “Shh.” he cooed as he spread his leathery wings and crawled over the silk sheets. It was her home. Her room was dark from where he’d closed the blinds and curtains, leaving them in darkness. Cal leaned over her body and touched her skin. She was growing cold. Soon she would die from blood loss.

“Was it worth it?” Cal asked her as his skin slid over her legs, his curls dripping over his shoulders to tickle at her skin. He pressed his pointed, upturned nose to her stomach, grazing his fangs over the skin there, “Was it worth leaving him, for this?”

“Mmmm.” she hummed again as she reached for his face. Cal felt his skin ripple with glamour, pale skin and soft human flesh replacing the cold grey, stony cold feel of his chest, “I like you more.” she purred into the cold skin, “And your bite.”

“You’re addicted to the saliva.” he commented as he pushed her hands to her sides, “It’ll help.” Cal reached for her face and stroked her jawbone, “You haven’t got that long left.” His fangs touched her neck, and she purred as he reopened the wounds. His stomach clenched happily as the taste of iron flooded his mouth. Crimson dripped from the corner of his mouth as he grew excited, leaning into her neck, his teeth tearing the wounds deeper before the rest of his sharp teeth followed them, piercing the flesh so he could grapple her by the throat like a wolf.

“Cal…” she uttered as her manicured nails fell from his hair, stroking the fur over his back as he drew away, blood covering his lips and chin, “C…” the kick of the consonant fell from her lips. The sound gurgled with the blood in her trachea. Blood bubbled on her lips as his wing claws reached to curl around the bedposts, holding his chest up over her dying body. Air crackled in her throat. Cal reached to touch her face as her eyes went glossy, the pupils expanding into their relaxed state as she died. Carefully, the vampire reached towards her face, his claws drawing bloodied lines over her skin.

“Loving me was your first mistake.” Cal whispered against her lips before he kissed them and closed her jaw. He closed her eyelids before kissing each of them and leaning back, shuddering as he looked at her throat. Torn pieces of her neck hung over the sides of the wound and down over her clavicle. With a purr, Cal shoved his bloodied fingers into his mouth, licking himself clean with his black, pointed tongue. There was silence. The candles swayed as he batted his wings once and hissed, fangs slipping past his lips as he threw his wings out in upset.

“Again… Again...” he whimpered to himself as he licked the blood from his mouth, “He told me! He warned me, and I’ve done it again!”

With a wail, he smashed his claws into the altar, throwing the candles onto the carpet.

Roaring, the vampire reared back, pressing himself flat against the wall as he crawled to the ceiling and watched from the corner. The body didn’t move. She laid, her arms pressed up against her cushions and her face turned to the heavens. Maybe she would make it there? Cal whispered to himself as he crushed himself into the corner, his black wing claws hooked into the plaster, and softly uttered his prayers for the deceased. He reached for the cross looped around his neck, clutching the rosary close, for once in his life, as the carpet began to smoke with flames. A fire started by the legs of the vanity, burning orange light quickly moving to consume the cheap fabric flooring. It rippled across the plastic underlayers before it caught the side of the soft cotton bedding and burned its way upwards, consuming the carpet underneath the bed before it caught onto the slats of the bed frame. The fire startled Cal, and he clutched at the walls before panicking and rushing for the window. His claws scrapped at the glass, leaving scratches in the pane as he fumbled with the latches. With a hiss, he smashed his hands against the wood and broke the latches free, the wood splintering against his fingers. Great curls of hair fell over his face before he screamed, the flames catching hold of his hair and burning up the right side of his back, licking the soft, leathery membrane of his wing. Pain burned in his back as he tore open the window and burst out into the sunlight. With another hiss, he covered his eyes, his wings stuttering and flapping wildly as the light burned at his monstrous retinas.

The sunlight wasn’t a death sentence anymore, but Cal regretted his decision to fly out as the sunlight seared at his open wounds, burning the flesh deeper. The star like pattern up his back ran red with boiling blood, dripping onto the tarmac below as he clumsily flapped through the air, heading towards the shaded back streets of the taller city buildings. With another howl of pain, he flung himself down into a shaded alley, clutching at his burnt wing before he dared to shift back into his glamour, naked and in agony, his eyes burning red with fury as he pressed his back against the cold metal of a dumpster. He screamed again at the pain, his blood boiling and fizzing against the metal. Cal looked up at the brick, trying to ground himself before he peeled his healing skin away from the metal again. He hissed violently and his mouth opened wide as spit and blood dripped from his jaw. He gagged and spat curses, his earlier reverence to the Lord forgotten, damning himself again as he gouged at the wall. He could barely hold himself up. A man wandered over to the dumpster with his bag of rubbish.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he caught sight of the shivering vampire, hunched over by the dumpster, “Oh fuck….” he saw the blood and flinched at the sight of the mouth full of fangs, “Fuck no. No way. You need the…” The elf said no more as he was grappled, fangs slicing his neck open. Cal drank from the wound hurriedly, burning with anger, guilt and pain as he gulped greedily, his back stinging but healing over from the burns. He dropped the elf a moment later and marvelled at the male as his eyes rolled up and looked him dead in the eyes, fingers clawing at the dirt as he attempted to gasp for help.

He left the elf in the alley and dragged himself along the alleyways until he found the sewers, slipping into the stinking manhole to hide from the sunlight and to try and figure out how he was going to avoid being institutionalized for the slip up. They found him in the evening, clutching his rosary, praying against his bed, the right side of his back covered in burns scars, and his face and neck still covered in blood.

“It’s been a long time since any of us have seen the owner, he tends to keep to himself.” Flix commented as the male fae handed you a black apron before he shook his head and fished you out a deep, crimson red colour, “It matches you better.” he explained, “But the only rule is that his rooms upstairs are off limits. No one sees him come and go, but Cal likes his privacy, and he’s…”

You took the apron and slipped it over your head, “He’s?” You asked, prompting the fae to continue, “He’s not a serial killer or something, is he?” You joked.

Flix turned his lilac eyes on you as he tied his long, purple tinted silver hair back in a high ponytail, “He’s a recovering vampire. He was institutionalized for three years. They had to get him off the blood.” Flix explained awkwardly, “Ever since he’s been reserved. He likes his space, you understand?”

You nodded, swallowing thickly, “Yeah. I understand.” awkwardly you shrugged your shoulders, “Sorry about…”

“It’s a joke, just don’t let him hear you say stuff like that okay, baby?” Flix purred, “We all know what he is but, just to be safe.” The fae tilted your face up by the chin, two of his fingers pressed under your chin.

Flix leaned close before he pressed the fingers of his other hand to your forehead, the ends glowing with a soft blue light before the light spread over your eyes for a moment, blinding you to the dim bar. You reared back but Flix laughed softly and held you upright as the bright dancing light faded, leaving you dazed and bleary eyed.

“That’s a little spell to stop the unruly sort from coercing you into giving them free drinks or offering them your neck. It’ll stop fae from being able to trick you too.” Flix’s wings fluttered before he grinned with dangerous teeth, “You don’t have to thank me, sweet thing. Your gaze is enough.”

After a moment blinking you scoffed, “You wish you could have a piece of this, Flix.” You flicked his hands away from you and laughed at him.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t fall for mine.” he sang as he pulled on his own apron, “Lets see what you’ve got newbie. Weldrick gave me the ‘all clear’ to grill you on the hardest things I know.”

“You’re not even trying and you still sound desperate for a lay.” You joked as Flix placed the shaker in front of you, “Pick your poison.”

Flix grinned, his black eyes glinting like an insect, shining with rainbows in the strobes before he pointed up at the menus, “A Bloody Mary.”

“Coming right up.” You grinned as you turned to grab the ingredients from the shelves.

It was a difficult cocktail to make without a mix, but you worked in bars from being barely eighteen. You had enough years in you to know how to make it, but whether it was to Flix’s taste was another question. You poured the cocktail into the glass and took a step back. Flix’s gossamer wings dragging over your arms as he took the drink, smelling it before he took a sip.

“Pretty good, for a human.” he joked as the strength of the drink hit him, “Though maybe for the human customers you might want to tone down the booze.”

“If they can’t handle it, why are they drinking?” You laughed as he knocked back the rest of the drink.

“Vampires might appreciate a real bloody to go along with it.” Flix flicked his hair away with a scoff, “There’s blood bags in the fridge, and fresh frozen in the back. Don’t let them fool you into thinking they need warm living stuff, they’re all just con artists.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” You took the glass and placed it in the boxes for cleaning, “So, do you want to test me on anything else, or am I good to go?”

Flix grinned as he leaned over the bar, “You’re good to go, sweet thing.” He batted his long, circular tipped eyelashes, and left you to the end of the bar, “Get those liquors in order, we open in twenty!”

The bar opened to a few guys, larger orcs who were older than the usual bruisers who came through. They were shaved bald in a traditional manner, their heads covered with tattoos and their ears pierced with numerous rings. They snorted in orcish to one another before thanking you for the drinks and leaving to sit in the corner, sighing in relief after their days work. The rest of the customers trickled in later on. The Black Dahlia attracted numerous clienteles and you were witness to all of them. The group of orcs that came in later were younger, headstrong, and brash as they swaggered between the bar and their put together tables. A faun at the end of the bar scoffed and talked to her friend as two of them ordered drinks. Flix served the men with a flirtatious wink, fluttering his eyelashes and you made sure to bump his backside purposely hard as you went past, smacking his hips into the bar roughly as the two orcs turned to the faun and human sat on the end.

“Do you ever give it up, Flix?” You asked with a snort as you placed some glasses into the tubs for washing.

“Not while I’m awake, no.” Flix grinned as he walked towards the next customer. You shook your head and carried on with your shift as the human and taller, older orc headed to the balcony to watch the show.

You had a break at about ten o’clock. It was much busier now that the band were on stage, in full swing of their show. You’d served humans, fae, werewolves and centaurs alike this evening, and you’d not had to deal with anyone who was unruly. You waved to Flix as you left him flirting with a group of Orcs, heading to the balcony to catch a bit of the show as you ate your food from the kitchen and drank the soft drink that you’d stolen from Flix’s personal favourites. The band chugged along before the female brought out a whip and bared her sharp elven teeth, her ice white eyes shining as she ran it along the audience. You laughed as you stabbed another fry, lathering it in sauce before you shoved it into your mouth, and washed it all down with a few glugs of the fizzy juice. Happily, you sat on the stool, watching the clock every now and then as you finished off your food.

As you took another drink, a cold shadow passed over you. You shuddered in your seat and peered behind you to see a slouching man take three long strides towards a table where the handsome orc and his entertainment for the night were sat. The man was a giant, clad in a soft turtleneck and black jeans covered in chains and small crosses. Around his neck sat a long, drooping rosary, and it bounced against his chest as he stopped, tossing black curls of hair from his eyes to peer at the couple over his sunglasses. His eyes burned red in the light but as fast as the colour appeared, it disappeared back into the steel blue. He shook the human’s hand before looking in his pockets for his cigarettes. The orc returned and the situation turned hostile and cold. The male reached for his gum packet instead and shakily unfolded the wrapper and slinked into the shadows, his hair rippling into the walls as he disappeared again from view. You sat with your mouth open before a hand appeared on your table, black nails thumping against the wood before a cold breath blew against you ear.

“Get back to work, newbie.” the gravelly voice growled, and you were quick to oblige, hopping up from your seat and escaping with your plates down the stairs to the bar front.

Your shifts at the Black Dahlia were regular. You even picked up extra hours when the female werewolf, Jude, went off on maternity for her second litter. You hoped to god she made enough money to support that many children, but you didn’t dare to question it as Flix talked about the process of werewolf childbirth.

“I don’t need to know, Flix!” You groaned at him, “One child is gross enough! Never mind a litter!” You smacked at him with your towel, “So hush!”

Flix cackled, “I didn’t think children would freak you out so much!” he prodded your arm, “You enjoy all those blood spurting bands on stage! I was sure you’d love seeing blood and mucus come out….”

You thumped the fae in the arm, “Seriously! Enough!” You scowled as you turned back to drying the pint glasses, “Sometimes you are way too much…” You muttered.

“Hey, come on. I’m sorry sweat pea!” Flix cooed, “I won’t mention it again, promise.” he crossed his finger over his heart.

“Fine.” You reached to pinch his cheek, “But next time I’m going to tell Weldrick!” You threatened.

“Ugh. You’re just a little minotaur’s pet.” he hissed at you playfully before turning back to his own job. Flix exited into the kitchen to load some final plates and glasses for washing.

“You’re fitting in well.” a low voice grumbled from the end of the bar. You jumped out of your skin at the noise, too focused on washing the pots to be paying attention to who was hanging around. You looked up to see the same, dark clad man from the other week. This time his black hair was tied back, revealing the hanging silver cross earrings in his ears. His steel eyes and low brows accentuated a thin face with high cheekbones, making him seem thinner than he was really. Tonight, he was dressed in a set of tight trousers and a tight, long sleeved red shirt, the sleeves long with soft ruffled ends, matched with a tied neck scarf under the collar. His sunglasses were pushed into his hair.

“Cal?” You asked lamely as you placed down the glass you were cleaning.

“Yes. I am he.” he droned as he picked at a beer towel with black painted nails, “Are you enjoying your time here?” Cal asked with a cool stare, his mouth twitching with a sneer, revealing the sharp set of fangs that filled his mouth. It was unlike any vampire you had met before.

“Uh…” Your heart did a flipflop before you could reply, “Yeah. I am. It’s nice to have such a stable job for once.” You confessed quickly, praying he wouldn’t bring up how nervous you were.

“I can hear you on the verge of a panic attack. Calm down. I know they’ve all told you how I was addicted to fresh blood. Bleeding blood, or whatever they call it now. I’m off it. I have been for years.” He snarled, “So stop panicking.”

You nodded, “Sorry.”

“Don’t. I don’t need it. I know what people think.” Cal pointed to the freezer under the counter, “Get me an O negative, please.” It seemed as though he had to squeeze the manners onto the end.

You walked closer and unlocked the freezer before fishing him a pack out and throwing it into the microwave to thaw after clicking the anticoagulant vacuole to avoid it from clotting. As you turned around, Cal grabbed your wrist, dragging you over the bar so he could sniff at you. The vampire’s eyes burned red for a moment.

“Or would you rather give me your blood?” he purred, the gravelly tone suddenly much more appealing, “It won’t hurt.” he comforted you as he opened his mouth full of monstrous teeth.

It was then you looked into his eyes, seeing the cold steel, and blinked.

“Flix put an anti-glamour spell on me. That doesn’t work.” You frowned before dragging your wrist out of his freezing cold grip, “Do you do that to all new starters?”

Cal sat back on the stool as he pushed his glasses back down onto his nose, “Not all. Just the ones I know will be snacks if Flix fucked up the spell.”

“What do you mean ‘know will be a snacks’?” You quoted back at him before throwing his warm blood bag onto the bar.

Cal snatched the bag and looked at the contents curiously before he stole a glass from your clean side on the bar and piped the contents into it. The red blood made you feel a little queasy, and you looked away as he greedily drank it, still ignoring your question.

“I meant…” he swallowed the last of the blood, “Vampires like to prey on new things like you. I might be scary, but they’ll do what they want if no one is watching. Keep your wits about you, or you’ll end up as a blood bag, or better yet, a brood barer for a drider.” he tossed the glass and packet on the bar and sneered as he turned. “Happy Halloween, newbie. Stay away from witches tonight.” His hair flowed into a shadowy smoke again before he disappeared up the shadowed walls and disappeared.

A slim hand fell on your shoulder, shocking you out of your annoyance and making you jump with a small gasp.

“Hey, calm down sweet thing, it’s just me.” Flix’s black eyes appeared next to you before he turned you around to look you in the eyes, “By the look on your face, I’m going to assume you met Cal?” He tilted his head.

“Yep.” You took a steadying breath, “He’s something…” You couldn’t really articulate what you thought in a kind way.

“He’s a bastard. I know.” Flix laughed as he flung his towel onto his shoulder, looking towards the shadows which Cal had disappeared into, “I’ll say sorry on his behalf. He’s…socially awkward.” Flix’s gaze eventually looked away from the shadows, and when you looked back, Flix was quick to wrap his hand around your shoulder and turn you towards the doorway, dragging you down to the other end of the bar.

“Forget about him anyway. Let’s get ready for the costume aspect!” Flix declared as he pushed you into the back room, “I’ve got just the thing for you!”

You shook off the odd feeling and smiled, “It better not be underwear!”

The feeling of being watched followed you all night as you wandered up and down the bar serving various costumed customers. You were in a cape and a set of polymer fitted fangs. Most of the vampires of the evening had taken to laughing at your fangs and white face. A pretty, tall vampire lady had scoffed before asking you if you’d prefer some real ones. Thankfully, Flix’s glamour worked its magic, preventing you from falling under any of their hypnotic spells. You thanked them, laughed, and served them their heated blood drinks. Flix enjoyed the evening more than you, fluttering around with his great wings dipping and curving as he delivered drinks by air. Halloween was the night monsters could let their hair down.

“Hey, Flix.” You looked up above the bar, “I’m just going for a quick toilet break!” You shouted up to him. The fae gave you an ‘okay’ sign from the air and fluttered with a graceful dip down to deposit a set of drinks with some gruff looking werewolves. You hung your apron up behind the bar before you headed to the toilets a little way from the bar. You hopped down the steps and opened the door before freezing in your tracks. A monster made of tentacles and thick slime oozed in a cubicle, and you backed away as a woman’s moans came from the where the toilet wall was. A tentacle appeared from around the door, the eyeball on the end rotated and blinked before the woman paused.

“Why have you stopped?” She whined, and you took that as the exact time to bolt with a rush of apologies spewing from your mouth. You slammed the door to the toilets closed and rubbed at your face, embarrassed and feeling hot as you escaped back to the bar.

A cold shadow lingered over your shoulder before a hand touched you by the bottom of the stairs, icy fingers pressing into the cheap fabric cape.

“A vampire?” Cal’s deep, gravelly voice asked before the rest of his cold body appeared at your right side, “Well, maybe a poor imitation of one.” He chuckled once, twice, and then stepped around your front.

“Cal…” You uttered before composing yourself, “It was Flix’s idea, not mine.”

“Ah. Yes, he does like to do things to get under my skin.” Cal commented before he noticed your squirming, “Is Rendax causing problems in the toilets again?” He asked, “That damn tentacle pest doesn’t know when he’s not welcome.”

“Yeah…well he’s doing a lot more than just causing a problem, I think.” You made a hole with your right thumb and index finger before pushing your left index finger through it, “If you catch my drift.”

“I’ll have Weldrick deal with him.” Cal snapped open his phone with a soft hiss and a scowl as he listened to the phone ring, “Weldrick? Yes… We have an unwanted visitor in the toilets, again.” He snapped the phone closed and you felt yourself smile as you looked at the old flip-phone.

“You know those have been out of fashion for about fifteen years, right?” You tried not to laugh as the vampire held the phone by its small antenna. A soft giggled escaped you.

Cal stepped from one foot to the other, awkwardly looking at his aloft phone, “It is what I was bought before we toured in two thousand and three.” He muttered to himself, “What do you humans use now?” He asked.

You looked him in the eyes, seeing the sad steel colour of them for a moment before you reached for your pocket and produced a smart phone, “Touch screen, colour, internet access.” You clicked it on, and the vampire jumped slightly at the colours in front of him, “Wait…”

Cal recoiled as you push the phone to him, “What?” He grumbled.

“I don’t think it would work, you know, since you’re dead and all that.” You confessed as you typed on the device.

“Probably not.” He confirmed before taking a step backwards, brushing his ponytail away before he cringed and stepped back towards the shadows, “You…” He looked from you to the bar again, “You are welcome to use the toilet near my office while Weldrick deals with our unwanted guest.”

As you nodded, the white minotaur came down the stairs. Your mouth opened at the size of the white bison looking minotaur. Weldrick’s fur was printed with black patterning, like tattoos, and he rolled his sleeves as he came to the bottom of the stairs, preparing to deal with the tentacle monster. The sheer amount of metal rings in his ears made him clink as he walked, and you took note of the nose hoop and eyebrow rings as he stopped short of you and Cal.

“Can Rendax not keep it in his fuckin’ pants for one sodding night?!” Weldrick shouted, and the crowd behind you parted as the minotaur gave Cal’s shoulder a clap. He thumped on the toilet door and opened it with a clatter, “You better be fuckin’ decent, Rendax, or I’m dragging both you and your girl toy out of here fuckin’ naked!” He hollered as he ducked his horned head to grab for the monster inside.

Cal turned on his heels, “Come on.” He led the way up the stairs, melting between the bodies as though he wasn’t even really there. No one paid him any attention and you followed quickly, still desperate for the toilet.

The stairs led to the second-floor balcony before there was another set of doors with a code on the handle. Cal punched in the numbers and opened it to the second set of stairs, letting you go through first before he followed you, closing the door behind him. The locking system re-engaged with a soft click and you turned back to see Cal eye the handle, his hand lingering around the metal before he gave an awkward half smile.

“Carry on up the stairs. It’s the first right door.” He shooed you up the stairs, and you nodded before heading up in front of him. A moment later, he followed in your footsteps, quiet as he made sure to stay a few steps behind you. You quickly found the door and opened it to see a large bathroom. It was perhaps Cal’s personal one, but it was bare, having just a few bottles in the shower basket. You locked the door and listened as Cal stopped outside. The shadow of his shoes remained for a moment before he walked on down the hall and entered a different room. The door closed with a soft click and you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you pushed off the door and headed towards the toilet. It was then you wondered if vampires even had to relieve themselves. They were technically dead, after all. You pondered the thought for a moment as you finished your business and washed your hands. You looked at the slate tiles for a moment, admiring the décor, before unlocking the door and sticking your head out into the hall. There was no sign of Cal. You stepped out and turned quickly to rush back down to the bar.

A claw grazed at your head, tugging a piece of hair, running through it quickly. You squeaked and looked up to see black hair hanging from Cal’s head. He was hung just over the door, hunched, with his claws in the ceiling and his head near your own.

“I’d like for you to work next Friday. Is that agreeable?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

You got over your fright with a deep breath, “Yes. That’s fine, but you could have just, uh, asked.”

Cal scowled.

“Without being hung from the ceiling?” You added on before moving out of his way, towards the stairs, “Thank you for letting me use your toilet.” You smiled and disappeared back down to the bar as quick as your feet would carry you.

Cal watched you leave before he slid from the ceiling and snatched your novelty cape from where it was stuck in the door.

“Are you okay?” Flix asked as he fluttered down from the ceiling, his wings brushing at your cheeks before he landed softly.

“Huh?” You asked before realising you probably looked rushed off your feet, “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” You lied with a smile. You rushed back behind the bar before reaching for your shoulders and realising your cape had come free during your escape. You didn’t have the courage to go and fetch it, so you turned back to the people waiting and got started making drinks and taking cash.

Halloween was forever burned into your mind and your retinas after seeing what you did that night. More importantly, however, you remembered the dark look of hunger in Cal’s eyes as he hung from the ceiling, seemingly with nothing but the soles of his shoes and one hand’s fingertips. He liked to lurk around the left wall of the club, his back pressed to it as he scanned the crowds of people. You had no idea what he was looking for, or if he knew you could see him, but he gave you no inclination that he could see you staring. There was always the sad, lonely coldness to his eyes. It burned to hunger whenever an exposed neck went past, and you saw him fidget and reach for a piece of gum often, like he was kicking a habit other than the cigarettes. You watched him again tonight, his tall frame pushed back into the shadow of the balcony, slouched against the wall in a pair of dark sunglasses, his curls of dark hair dripping over his shoulders where they melted back into the shadows around him. He was shirtless, covered only in a leather jacket and black jeans, the studded belt wrapped around his hips. As he turned, you caught a glimpse of the tattoos on his chest with a centre cross between his pecs. It was flanked by three pairs of shaded wings. You looked at the ink intensely before you looked back at your cocktail mixer and wondered what it meant.

As you finished serving the masses, you felt out a breath and sat back on the stool behind the bar, taking a moment to rest your feet before people started to queue with orders again. As you relaxed against the wooden shelving you peered back to the left wall, where you had last seen Cal lurking. He was gone, replaced by a couple cuddled together watching the band who were playing. A soft melody rang out from a synth, not unlike a church organ. It petered into some soft vocals and you dared to close your eyes and let out a breath as your body relaxed a little.

“Enjoying a break?” Cal’s gravelly voice carried over the top of the lilt of a guitar.

“Ah!” You jumped a little, smacking your head against the wooden shelf. You clutched at the spot and rubbed furiously to try and push the pain aside, “Sorry.” You winced at you pulled your hand away, seeing a dot of blood from a little scrape on your scalp.

Steel eyes locked onto your fingers, but Cal didn’t move. The vampire swallowed and tore his gaze away from the blood.

“Here.” Cal reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small handkerchief, “To stop the blood.”

“Thank you.” You took the piece of soft cloth from him and pushed it to the little cut. You avoided his eyes for a moment before slowly looking up and realising that his neck was bare of the rosary, “You don’t have your rosary on.” You commented, off-handed.

Cal looked down at his chest before nodding and pushing his glasses down his nose, “I don’t. You’re more observant than I thought…But that doesn’t answer my original question, does it?” he reached for his back pocket and slid free a packet of cigarettes.

“Smoking will kill you, you know?” You joked before taking the handkerchief away from the scratch on your scalp. “I was. It’s been madness serving tonight. Flix is off so its just me manning the bar.”

“Oi!” Weldrick ducked his head out of the kitchen door, “I’ve been helping you all night, cheeky little fucker.” the minotaur snorted at you before seeing Cal. His blue eyes widened in shock, “I didn’t expect to see you out and about, Cal.”

The vampire snorted as he turned the packet of empty cigarettes with a sneer, “Well, it is also my bar.” He flicked his painted nails at the minotaur.

“Oh, is it?!” Weldrick grumbled, “Well, maybe you can come help serve fuckin’ drinks in it then!”

You looked back at Weldrick and then to Cal. The vampire’s teeth poked out from beneath his top lip before he snarled with a hiss.

“Fuck you, Weldrick. You know I can’t!” Cal curled back in on himself suddenly, all his bite lost as though he had been kicked.

“Yeah. I know why. You’d eat the clients.” Weldrick gruffly stated before he dragged you away by the arm, turning your head before you were deposited in the kitchen out of sight of Cal, “So is that what you’re sweetening this one up for?”

Cal looked at Weldrick over the top of his sunglasses again, “No.” he slammed the cheap vampire costume cape on the bar top, “I came to give this back.” His nails were claws as he dragged his hand away and he grabbed his forgotten handkerchief from the bar.

Weldrick saw the blood on the cloth, “Cal. You know you can’t do this again.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He insisted, “I’m not relapsing, so stop. Just stop. I’m not an animal and I’m over it. I was trying to…”

“Be a bit more human.” Weldrick finished for him with a thump to the vampire’s shoulder, “Well. Don’t let me stop you, but I’m warning you, I’ll intervene again if I find out that…”

Cal sighed, “I know.” before he walked away from the bar.

You peered back around the door with a sheepish smile. Weldrick watched the vampire weave his way back up the stairs before he turned around, his giant tattooed arms crossed over his chest.

“What’s the rule, newbie?” he grumbled at you, his nostrils flared and his pierced ears flicking back and forth.

You ducked your head and fiddled with your apron, “No flirting with vampires?” You looked up, “But I was…”

Weldrick grumbled again, “No. You don’t get close with Cal. Flix warned you about him, and about glamouring!” he insisted, “Watch yourself, that’s all I’m saying.” Weldrick sighed and scrubbed at his messy white fur, “Cal’s a good lad. He’s just…got a lot of issues and things going on in that old head of his. You get me?”

You nodded, “I was just being polite and…he seems nice, just a little eccentric.”

Weldrick laughed at you, “Eccentric is one word.” he clapped your back harshly, winding you, “Look after your neck, newbie. Any vamp would like a piece of you, I’m sure. That girlie in the corner had been eyeing you for an hour before Cal showed up to strong arm his claim. He’s taken a liking to you, whether you like it or not!” Weldrick said before he disappeared into the back again and you sat back on your stool. You looked at the young female vampire, decked in dreads and deadly red lip gloss. She avoided looking back at you and disappeared into the crowd.

You plucked your novelty cape from the bar top and looked up the stairs, where Cal had disappeared into the crowd and up to his rooms. You took a breath and turned back to the kitchen.

“Weldrick? I’m just going to thank him for bringing my cape back.” You said around the door frame, peeking inside to see Weldrick carrying two new kegs of beer.

“Fine. Watch yourself heading up there, okay? Do you know the code?” he asked as he stepped around you and ducked underneath the bar.

“No, but I figured that Cal would be able to hear me knock?”

Weldrick nodded and gave you a thumbs up from underneath the bar, “Bat ears come in handy sometimes.” he snorted as he undid the old keg.

You left the minotaur tucked underneath the bar and headed towards the stairs; your hands tucked into your apron pocket.

A few patrons gave you smiles and greetings as you passed them by, and you smiled and rushed along towards the door, marked by a large ‘private’ sign. You felt silly as you stood in front of the door, awkwardly playing with the frill on the cape collar. One deep breath, you told yourself, as you sucked in air, and held it, calming yourself with a long exhale before you knocked timidly. It didn’t take Cal long to unlatch the lock and open the door inwards, his face painted with a frown and his glasses pushed into the top of his hair. His intense eyes met your own before he looked at the cape in your hands.

“Thank you.” You said, “For returning my cape I mean. I didn’t have the balls to come back and ask for it…and now I realise that I was a bit stupid.”

Cal’s eyebrow quirked, “Its not a problem. I realised you’d left it in the bathroom, but I only just now remembered you were on shift.” he reasoned quietly before he hummed, “Would you like to…”

“Sorry but I’m still on shift, and Weldrick will hang me if I leave him to work alone. But really,” you reached out and laid your hand over his, squeezing it slightly as you smiled, “Thank you. Most people wouldn’t have washed it either.”

You left him stood at the door and rushed back through the customers to help Weldrick pull pints for a rowdy group of elves.

The vampire watched you head back down the stairs with a small grimace before he snatched his hand back to his side and shut the door with a small bang, his other hand clutching the bloodied handkerchief you had given him. He looked at it before heading up the stairs and throwing it into the washing machine in his small flat.

Cal seemed to warm slightly after that night, and he would linger a little closer to the bar during the nights you were on shift, ignoring your stares as he leaned by the wall in whatever black attire took his fancy, always with a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, and a piece of gum in his fang filled mouth. This night was no different, but Cal weaved his way towards the stage, the chains attached to his jeans swinging as he tugged the band’s lead singer down to tell him something. You looked over, wiping a glass as he pulled himself up on the stage and threw off his jacket and shirt. Your eyes were drawn to the wings and cross on his chest, and then to the upside-down crucifix on his back, seared on his right side with creeping burn scars. The bar fell silent before the screaming started, and people flooded towards the front, pushing and grinning as Cal pushed his sunglasses into his hair and took hold of the microphone stand. He didn’t say anything but the band on stage grinned and nodded to each other as they started the slow chug of a song.

“Oh, newbie, are you in for a treat tonight.” Flix chuckled behind you as his insect like wings fluttered over the top of your head, “Cal on stage. He’s not sang a song in nearly a year. You better get the mop bucket for the girlies at the front.”

“He can sing?” You asked, confused.

“Don’t you know?” Flix asked back, with a wide-eyed look, “Oh my sun and moon!” he exclaimed, “Cal was part of Black Blood!”

Your mouth fell open, “No fucking way! You’re fucking with me?”

Flix laughed, a gentle tinkering noise next to your ear, “No way, sweetie. He was part of the band until, well…You know the rest.”

“He was a musical god and now he runs a bar?” You stated, “This is surreal.”

“You tend to lose a lot of reputation when you eat fans.” Flix stated before he squealed as he was hit over the head.

Weldrick snorted from above the two of you, looming like an all-white shadow, “Better believe he was a god.” he hummed before sighing, “Too bad the addiction killed his career, and the band. Durzub never did forgive him. Poor sod.”

“What exactly happened?” You asked but before Weldrick could answer you, Cal opened his mouth. You watched in awe as he formed the words, and the crowd leaned a little closer. He caressed the microphone stand as he started to sing about a night in a dark palace and you swore the crowd swayed with each syllable, as though they were under some kind of spell.

“Is that a glamour spell?” You whispered to Flix.

The fae only grinned, his black eyes sparkling as he turned your face back to the stage, “Just watch.”

So, you did, you watched him sway and sing, his hands slipping across faces and himself as he weaved something like a story. One night of passion before the sunrise split the lovers apart and the dawn burned his skin away. Everything was enchanting, his deep voice like a drug you couldn’t get enough, but each time you leaned closer you shook your head and took a step back. The audience was entranced, and you watched the men and women at the front swoon. An organ melody marked the end of the song, trailing into the soft plucking of a guitar and Cal’s eyes stared across the audience, finding your own. He held the stare for a moment before he pushed his sunglasses back over his eyes and took his shirt and jacket. No one followed him as he weaved through the swaying bodies and disappeared back into the shadows of the bar.

“What the fuck was that?” You asked as the audience finally came to and started to cheer, “Were they hypnotised?”

Weldrick huffed, “Not quite. His singing has always had that effect, unfortunately. People are just enamoured. He swears there’s not a trick to it, but something about his singing is plain magical.”

“Magical is one word for it.” Flix snorted as he bumped your hip, “I would say sexy.”

“Watch yourself, Flix.” Weldrick laughed as he turned to head back into the cellar.

“It was amazing.” You stated with a sheepish smile, “I wonder if he’ll sing more?”

Flix nipped your cheek with his finger and thumb, “Once a year, sweet thing, once a year.” he punctuated the statement by poking you in the ribs.

“It’s a shame. He sings so beautifully.” You complimented as you took hold of another glass and dried the water off it.

“I bet you would sing really lovely in bed.” A brash vampire leaned over the bar, flashing his fangs as his blond hair dripped over his eyes. He pushed it back into its styled quiff with a wide, charming smile. He reached for your hand and you took a quick step back, smiling politely.

“Oi. Vampire.” Flix hissed, “You know what’s allowed and what isn’t here.” The fae took you by the shoulders, “No fresh blood. You get the pack stuff, or you find somewhere else to haunt.”

The vampire scoffed, “Why don’t you let them speak for themselves, huh, sparkly boy.” He took your hand again.

“Sir, thank you, but I’m really not interested.” You carefully tried to slide your hand back, but it was caught in the vampire’s iron grip, “If you would like a drink, I can make you one?”

“Get off, fang bag.” Flix snarled.

You didn’t get to defuse the situation, because as you tugged your hand again, a moment later, the vampire was slammed against the bar, pinned in place by Cal. The older vampire hissed, fangs dripping by the youngster’s ear as he pressed his claws into his neck, cutting the skin underneath his ears.

“Cal!” Weldrick shouted but he was silenced as Cal drew his head away, eyes pulsing red and his mouth open, his nose upturned. His face was the picture of a monstrous bat, feral and unhinged, his skin bleeding to a soft grey.

Cal held up a finger to you all before he leaned back over the vampire pinned to the countertop, “What is the one rule I have here?” He asked, his face contorted like a feral animal.

The youngster hissed pathetically and thrashed.

“I’ll gladly gut you and hang you from a church spire.” Cal threatened, “Or I’ll take this to your maker?”

The youngster pressed himself flat, “We don’t touch the humans.” he said, finally, as he deflated in defeat.

“That’s right.” Cal growled, “So, I suggest you find a new bar to fuck about in.”

As he finished the sentence, he threw the youngster towards the door, sending him sprawling against the wall with a slam that shook the bar. The male rushed to his feet before escaping out of the entrance, his hair dishevelled and flying around his head. You closed your mouth as Flix placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks, boss.” Flix uttered as he looked over your hand, “You’re gonna have some mean bruises, newbie.” he commented as he turned your hand palm up.

You couldn’t really focus on Flix as you looked Cal in the eyes. His face morphed back to a human looking guise behind a thin curtain of his hair. He moved his black curls back over his shoulder and nodded at you.

“Thank you.” You flinched as Flix prodded at your fingers.

“You’re welcome.” Cal whispered before he turned and walked away, fiddling with his jacket where it was torn by the youngster’s claws.

“Hey!” You pushed Flix’s fretting hands away and ducked through the bar door, rushing to catch up with Cal. He turned just outside the door to the upstairs flat and looked at you as he reached for a piece of spearmint gum, popping the rectangle piece into his mouth as you floundered, “Can…Can I take you out somewhere? To pay you back for everything you’ve done?”

Cal stopped chewing, his jaw going stiff before he reached for the empty cigarette packet in his jeans pocket and cursed again. He ducked his head, appearing small despite his towering height, standing at well over six feet tall.

“It won’t be, uh, a date or anything, unless you know, you want that. I just want to say thank you, I guess.” You babbled until he reached out his hand.

“Let me see your hand.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a demand.

You held up your bruised hand, “Its nothing.” You deflated, thinking you had been rejected.

Cal looked at your hand for a moment before letting you cradle it again, “Meet me outside. Friday lunchtime. There’s an old diner a few blocks away.” He grumbled quietly.

You smiled and nodded, “Sure. Dinners on me!” You gushed before catching yourself, “Well, not me. I don’t think I have very good blood and…”

Cal let out a low, deep chuckle, before he pushed his sunglasses back up into his hair. His breath smelled like mint as he took your hand and kissed the sore fingers, “See you then.” he rumbled before he unlocked the door and disappeared up the stairs.

Deciding what to wear seemed like the end of the world until your finally settled on something not too flashy, but a little dressy. You fiddled with the bottom of your shirt as you waited close to the entrance to The Black Dahlia. It was a little past midday and you wondered if you had come a little too early. Your fears were shot when the door opened, and Cal stepped out into the sunlight. He was in his sunglasses, the collar of his duster turned up to hide his cheeks with a black, red trimmed fedora on his head to shield his face from the sun.

“Hey, sorry if I’m a little early.” You smiled as you reached him.

Cal shrugged his shoulders, “Its not a problem. I don’t tend to sleep much… And I heard you arrive.” he tapped his ear underneath his collar, “A vampire thing.”

“Oh…You know I never thought of that.” You confessed before pointing to his hat, “You’re not going to uh, burst into flames, are you?”

Cal’s lips twisted up in a half smile, “No. I’m a little sensitive to sun, but I’m old enough that it isn’t lethal anymore. I wouldn’t have said daytime if I knew I would burst into flames.” he nodded his head, “Come on. The diner isn’t far.”

You followed him happily, not straying too far from his side as you made a bit of idle conversation to fill the silence.

The diner was three blocks away. Cal opened the door and let you inside first. It was a cosy place, with wooden interiors and metal accents. It was quiet, with no customers milling around just yet, except for a dwarf, who was asleep in one of the booths furthest away from the door. A female elf looked up from her notebook and smiled brightly as Cal entered behind you.

“Clarence!” she tittered, “By the sun! It’s been so long since we’ve seen you! You know we only live four streets away!” she exclaimed before smacking his shoulder with her towel.

“Sorry, Graeliel.” Cal muttered, “Its…”

“Don’t. I know, sweetheart. I know.” Graeliel reached up and took hold of his cheeks between her palms. She patted his face before tossing her brown braids over her shoulders and dashing behind the counter, “Pam! Pamela!” she screeched, “Clarence is here!”

An older orc woman appeared from the kitchen, her chef’s apron splattered with sauce and her mohawk flattened with the heat of the kitchen, “Boy you best hope I don’t get hold of you!” she shouted as she crossed her arms over her chest, “Three years, and not a word! Not a word!”

Cal shrivelled in on himself a little, “I’m sorry, Pam, Graeliel. I know I should have called or something…”

Pam held up her hand, “Don’t give me that.” she looked down at him and scrubbed at her silver-streaked hair, pulling it back before sighing, “I know, sweetheart. We’ve been worried, is all.”

“Pamela has been beside herself.” Graeliel added before she patted her wife’s shoulder, “But it’s all right. You’re here now…and with company?” She added as she peered around Cal, spotting you stood by the door.

Awkwardly, you gave them both a wave and stepped forwards.

“Ah,” Cal introduced you before adding, “We’re here for lunch if you have the space?”

“Oh but of course!” Graeliel grinned, exposing her slightly sharp, elven teeth, “I didn’t think you would ever find a partner, Cal!”

“You owe me thirty, Graeliel.” Pamela chuckled as she walked back towards the kitchen, “And no, I won’t accept back massages this time!” she shouted out of the door before disappearing again.

Graeliel took your arms and rolled her eyes at her wife before she led you both over to a booth in the other corner of the restaurant. She grabbed a napkin holder and two sets of cutleries for you both and laid them on the table carefully before she laid two laminated menus down too.

“I’ll go and get you some drinks to let you decide what to have. How does two lemonades sound?” Graeliel smiled as she tucked her notebook in the front pocket of her apron.

“That sounds great.” You answered before you looked to Cal, “Wait. Is that okay?”

The vampire nodded his head, “Its fine. I can still have human food and drink, in moderation. It holds no nutritional value, and a lot makes me feel sick, but its nice sometimes.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. I don’t think I’ve ever asked a vampire before though.” You smiled. Graeliel nodded and headed off to go and grab you both a drink, leaving you both with the menu and silence, which was occasionally broken by the snoring dwarf at the other side of the diner.

“What are you going to get?” You asked Cal as you flopped the menu back on the table, “Are the club sandwiches any good?”

Cal shifted and pulled his coat off before reaching up to the top of the window and pulling down a window shade, which kept the sun off him. When he was comfortable, he carefully pulled his glasses and hat off, revealing his steel-coloured eyes. He was dressed in a shirt and a dark pair of jeans with his rosary sat on top of his chest. His black hair fell down his back and he reached to tie it back quickly before he picked up the menu and crossed a leg over his knee, resting the ankle on his knee.

“The steak is actually decent.” he commented, “But if you want something light the chicken Caesar wrap is great. They source meat from an organic place…I think. It’s been a while since I was last here.”

“The falafel sounds better.” You grinned, having decided on your meal, “What about you?”

Cal peaked at you over the top of his menu, “The usual.” He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, leaving the menu on top of your own.

“What’s your usual then?” You prodded his hand on the table.

“A pint of blood and a rare steak.” Cal muttered, looking up at you to check for your reaction.

You were shocked for a moment, before you started laughing, creasing yourself against the table as you saw his eyes widen and his hands fidget with the edge of the table.

“Sorry.” You wheezed, “I just didn’t think you’d say it like that.”

A ghost of a smile turned his lips up at the corners, “People don’t like vampires. I wanted to see what you thought but,” he gestured to your wheezing, “it obviously doesn’t phase you.”

Once you finally caught your breath you looked him in the eye, “No, it doesn’t bother me. You’re just different to me, and that’s not a big deal. I’ve seen some scary vampires, and you’re not one of them.”

“Like the one that tried to snack on you?” Cal added scathingly.

“Yeah. He was…Well if you hadn’t shown up, I might not have gotten out of that one.” You smiled, “So, thank you, again.”

“Stop thanking me.” Cal sighed, “I didn’t do anything special.”

“But to me, you did! So, hush, and let me buy you lunch!” You jeered at him, pointing a fork at his face like a dangerous weapon. Cal smiled again and let it drop as Graeliel came back with your lemonade.

“Alrighty then.” she pulled out her notepad out and poised her pen for your orders, “What will you lovebirds be having?”

“Graeliel, we’re just here for lunch.” Cal droned as he rubbed at his temples and reached back to pull the other blind down.

“Hush. I know a date when I see one!” Graeliel tapped the top of his head with her pen, “What do you want sweetie?” she asked. Cal opened his mouth again, but she silenced him with a scathing look, like an insistent mother.

“I’ll have the falafel wrap, please.” You ordered and she nodded before looking at Cal.

“The usual, please.” Cal grumbled before taking hold of his icy glass of lemonade and taking a sip. He didn’t make a face at the sourness but turned to look out of the window, before realising he had the blind down, and staring down at his drink, stirring the straw around idly. Graeliel left you both alone to go and give your orders to Pamela. Cal watched her leave before looking back at you with his ghostly smile again.

“I’m sure you have lots of questions.” he stated before he took another sip of lemonade, “I know I would if I was in your situation.”

You nodded and played with your own straw, “Lots of questions. I saw your face morph into something like I’ve never seen before. You looked like…well, something out of a kids story book.” You took a sip of your drink from your lemonade.

Cal turned his head, avoiding your gaze as a cringe took over his features, “I figured that would be the first thing you asked me about.” he avoided your eyes as he seemed to think about what to say next, “I’m a vampire, yes, but I’m of an old bloodline. Night Terrors. That’s what we were called by the rest of our own race. I suppose we are like bats. Up turned noses, wings and the ability to hang onto any surface.” He droned quietly as the ice in his drink clinked, “Terachi. That’s what we are called now.”

You listened quietly before interjecting gently, “So why don’t you always look like that?”

“Glamouring. Intense glamouring.” Cal mumbled, “Enough that even Flix’s spell doesn’t enable you to see my real face.”

The words sat heavy in your stomach. Cal refused to look at you for a while, his eyes trained on his lemonade.

“I can hear your brain churning. Its an ugly face. Its something humans would run. I’ve hidden my face behind my human appearance from the day I was turned.” he whispered as he pushed his hair over his shoulder again.

Gently, you took his hand from around the glass, stroking his fingers before you squeezed them and let him have his hand back, “How long have you been in music?” You asked, eager to stop Cal from scowling. He looked at the window again before meeting your eyes again and smiling awkwardly, the corners of his lips twitching.

“I’ve played the violin since I was around eight years old.” Cal turned his straw in his drink, “I learned to play the piano, but also the organ.” He saw your look, “My family was very religious. My mother was a faithful catholic. She married and dragged my father into it. I’ve said my hail Mary’s since I could speak.”

“Is that why you still wear your rosary?” You asked, pointing at the black beads hung around his neck and the cross which rested over his chest. His shirt hid the tattoo he had over his pectorals from view.

Cal picked at the cross and regarded the wooden jewellery for a moment before he dropped it back against his chest, “My relationship with the lord is a little complicated.”

“Isn’t everyone’s?” You joked as he shifted in his seat, “I think its nice you still believe. How long have you been, well, like this?” You trailed off at his grimace.

“A vampire?” he asked, “Since I was twenty-six.” He gestured to himself, “It was a service, in 1784. My maker was amazed by my skill with instruments, and I sang for him after. I’ve been like this ever since.” Cal gave himself a disgusted once over, before he looked back down at the wooden table, his nails scratching at the waxy surface, gouging at a name someone had already cut into the top.

“Did you leave anyone behind?” You asked.

“A fiancé. I don’t think I ever loved her like she deserved.” Cal said, “I disappeared after the service. My maker held me like a child as I changed and stopped breathing. I’ve not seen him since...” he trailed off, “I’ve not seen him since I joined Black Blood. That was over twenty-five years ago now.”

“Wow. That’s a long time. Did you fall out over it all?” You asked.

Cal shrugged his shoulders in response, “He didn’t want me out of his clutches I suppose. Either way, its history.” he dismissed any further questions with a wave of his hand.

As though she had seen the tense situation, Graeliel came tootling over with your meals. The elf laid the two plates down in front of each of you and smiled warmly as she pointed to the lemonade.

“Is the lemonade sweet enough? I let Pam make it this time, and she’s a bit sour, so she skimps on the sugar.” she teased as she leaned back and tucked her towel against her hip.

“Its perfect.” You assured her as you took another drink of it, “Its just sweet enough. Anymore and I think my teeth would rot.” You joked.

She nodded and quickly scuttled to a microwave as it pinged. You watched curiously as Graeliel snipped open a back of blood and poured the contents into a blacked-out pint glass. She returned with the glass and placed it in front of Cal.

“Make sure you don’t eat too much this time, hm?” She patted his hand before she smiled at you brightly and left to go and dispose of some rubbish.

You looked at the black glass on the table and wondered just if Cal was going to drink it in front of you or not. He met your gaze and shifted back before he took hold of the glass.

“You don’t have to look, if it makes you uncomfortable.” he reasoned, quietly, holding your gaze for a moment before he peered at the deep red contents.

“No.” You swallowed, “Its fine. Go ahead.” You smiled and reached for your cutlery as he nodded and tipped his head back a little. He pressed the glass to his mouth and quickly downed the blood, his throat working as he guzzled at it like a hungry animal. Cal grumbled softly as he finished and licked at the red blood clinging to his top lip before pressing his finger to it and licking that too. He closed his eyes and swallowed the last of it, his nose curled, before he calmed himself down, and looked back at you. His eyes were wide, as though he had thoroughly enjoyed himself, and you smiled at him.

Cal’s lips curled a little at one corner before he stood to give the glass back to Graeliel. You appreciated the iron smelling glass being moved and carefully started picking at your salad. He returned and you picked up your wrap.

“Well, lets see if you recommended me something decent!” You took a bite and Cal chuckled quietly as your eyes widened at the taste, “Is this home made or something? The sauce is so good.” You said around your mouthful.

Cal nodded with a smile, “They make everything here in house.” he picked up his steak knife and sliced into the very rare steak before feeding himself a small piece, “Still tastes as good as ever.” He leaned to the kitchen and chuckled again.

“Too right it does!” Pamela hollered from the kitchen. You both laughed at her before digging back into your food.

“Are you two finished?” Graeliel asked as you leaned back and grumbled about being too full. Cal chuckled again as he pushed his sunglasses into his hair, and you nodded with a content sigh.

“Pamela’s cooking has that effect.” Cal added quietly as you patted your stomach and laughed.

Graeliel laughed as well, “I’ll get you both the bill.” she walked happily to the kitchen to deliver your dishes and glasses before going to the cash register and bringing you the total on her notepad, scribbled underneath your orders.

You took the piece of paper, but Cal had already pulled out the cash, placing it on the table for Graeliel before he grabbed his hat and tucked his hair out of the way. He noticed you gawking and tilted his head, “Are you okay with me paying?” he asked curiously.

You nodded before huffing, “Yeah, but next time I get the food.”

Cal paused as he shrugged one arm of his coat on, “Next time?” he asked quietly.

“If you want a next time?” You asked with an embarrassed smile.

He nodded, completely silent as he turned his face away from you. He was incapable of blushing much more than a faint pink tone after a meal, but you caught the slight pink colour to the apples of his cheeks before he flicked his collar up.

You followed suit and thanked Graeliel and Pamela as Cal rushed for the door, his long, graceful strides carrying him faster than you could ever hope to be.

Graeliel reached to give you a gentle hug which smelled of jasmine, “Look after him for us, hm? He’s such a sweet boy, just a little wounded.”

“I’ll try.” You felt hot and embarrassed, and your cheeks burned as you looked at Pamela’s smirk. You said your goodbyes and rushed after Cal. He held you open the door and silently offered you his arm. You took the arm and linked your own through it. Cal looked at you through the side of his black sunglasses before he smiled a little wider, revealing his sharp, fang like teeth. It was the only part he consistently couldn’t glamour, you had come to realise. You returned his smile and Cal looked down at you. Your eyes followed a piece of hair as it escaped his hair tie and slipped out over his shoulder.

“I’ll walk you home, if you want?” he asked with a small shake to his voice.

You realised then, that you were smitten with him, and smiled brightly, “Sure. Its not too far. I live near the rose garden park.” Cal nodded and ran his cold fingers over your hand before he slipped your hand down and into his own.

You reached your small flat just as the roads started to get busy with traffic from people going home from work. You reached into your small bag as you neared the door, and quickly rummaged around for your keys. They jingled in your hand as Cal slipped his hand from yours and let you step up to the door alone.

“Thank you.” He uttered, “For taking a chance with me. No one has…been so kind to me in a while. Certainly not someone as gorgeous as you.” Cal whispered the words, as though you weren’t supposed to hear them. He turned his face away from you, his eyes still hidden behind his glasses. The sun was lower in the sky and the beginnings of the sunset were starting, casting an orange glow over his pale skin and the pieces of his black curls which had escaped his ponytail.

“I didn’t take a chance.” You said as you stepped back down in front of him, “I think you’re…You’re much more than just a monstrous vampire. You’re kind, sweet and considerate and…”

“Handsome?” He asked with a quirk to his lips before he licked them and reached out to take your hand again, running his fingers against your own as he digested your words.

“You make me feel…You make me feel grounded. Whole. Like I’m not…” Cal huffed at himself, “Like I’m not some fucking killer freak. I just… I feel like you understand, and I find myself thinking of you, often. I…”

Gently, you reached up and pressed a warm finger to his lips, quietening his rambling, “I like you too, Cal. I think you’re…”

Cal silenced you as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair again, revealing his steel-coloured eyes. He stared at you with such intensity, and you were drawn to the soft curve of his lips all too easily. He smelt like peppermint again, but you forgot that as he pressed his lips to yours. They were soft but icy cold. The temperature made you jump, but you quickly pressed to him. Cal grumbled something before you were backed against the door, his fangs grazing your bottom lip as his cold tongue brushed against your lips. You opened your mouth and moaned quietly as he kissed you deeply, his fangs grazing your lips again. He drew away, as though shot, and you smiled at the blackness to his eyes and the grey sheen to his skin. His nose curled and you touched the pointed tip of his upturned nose before pushing your hands over his shoulders and feelings the musclar tops of his wings. They flexed beneath his coat, the clawed tips scrapping against the concrete before he dived in to nip your lips again.

“I adore you.” He purred as you felt the tips of his ears and fumbled for the handle. The door opened with a soft click and you pulled on his hands. He caught himself at the door, letting you hold his hands before he was drawn into you and found your lips again, “You complete me.” He moaned against your cheek before you closed the door.

#vampire x reader #male vampire x reader #gender neutral reader #vampire x gender neutral reader #vampire boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster bf #monster reader insert #reader insert #my writing #original writing #original works #clarence marston #clarence marston x reader #vampire male x reader #monster boy #monster x reader #monster bf x reader

172 notes · View notes

unbridgeabledistances · 4 years

Text

hi y’all<3 here’s a new section of the gallavich as seen from alternate POVs fic, this time featuring lip!!!! (i wanted to wait til after the ✨lickey drama✨ in the new ep before posting, but then i decided against it bc i didn’t want to re-write this lol)

i started to have way too many feelings while writing this so it’s a little lengthy and contemplative, but rest assured it features some domestic fluff/ian and mickey being disgustingly in love- i hope u enjoy<3

Lip shuffled into the kitchen of the Gallagher house, opening the fridge door and reaching past the clanging beer bottles to grab a metal soda can on the way back of the shelf, hearing a faint fizz escape as he popped the tab. It was late, the moonlight streaming in across the kitchen through the worn curtains and pooling on the kitchen floor— after Tami had crashed in their bed at the apartment after a long day at work and Freddie was sleeping soundly in his crib, Lip had come by the Gallagher house, without really knowing why. He just needed to clear his head, to get some distance from Tami and all her relentless nagging about moving and apartment hunting and his colossally obvious fuck-up with the bikes— he just needed some space, some less stifling air to breathe outside of their half-packed apartment crammed with boxes lining the walls.

It was funny; no matter how much energy Lip had poured into he and Tami’s first apartment, into painting the walls and agonizing over their kitchen backsplash like it was his first-born son, whenever Lip thought about home, whenever he felt that pit of uneasiness growing in his stomach and he just needed a place where he could lie back on a couch and loosen the knots in his shoulders and breathe in familiar air that would fill him up, instead of the too-clean smell of Tami’s flowery potpourri that she’d placed on the expensive coffee table in their living room— Lip always found his feet leading him across the slabs of sidewalk and past the chain link fences towards the Gallagher house, no matter the time of night. He had only been in the house for a few minutes before he felt the tight-knit something in his chest begin to unfurl— he didn’t even want to start to think about what was lodged there. This had been a crazy fucking couple of months, and he wasn’t going to start getting sappy about selling the house now, not when they were so close. He’d dug a hole too deep this time, and he needed the money. He couldn’t fuck up again— not with Freddie to take care of. No matter what it cost him.

So that’s how Lip ended up sitting at the Gallagher kitchen table at 2 a.m. on a Thursday night, sipping at an overly-sugary pop that was no substitute for what he really wanted to be drinking right now—he could imagine how it would warm the insides of his stomach, how it would cushion whatever weird fucking ache was in his chest right now. But— no. Fuck no. He wasn’t going to do that now. Everything about selling the house, about moving on, was about getting his shit straight— about leaving the bad parts of this sagging roof and these stained floorboards behind him.

Lip slouched in the wooden kitchen chair, scrolling on his phone and finally letting out a breath he didn’t really know he had been holding in all day, when he heard a creaking of footsteps padding at the top of the stairs— too heavy to be Liam or Debbie, too careful and unfumbling to be Frank dragging himself through the house. Lip flickered a glance up from where he was sitting and met Ian’s eyes as he turned the corner of the stairs, his skin looking translucent and overly pale in the moonlight like the ginger motherfucker he was.

Ian nodded his head towards Lip in acknowledgement, like he wasn’t surprised in the slightest that his older brother with a whole ass family and apartment of his own was decidedly squatting in the kitchen of his childhood home, drinking a pathetic-looking can of Dr. Pepper. Ian slid open the fridge door, grabbing a beer and swiftly popping the cap off by knocking the bottle on the side of the counter—and then in an instant it became one of those quiet, familiar nights when it was just Lip and Ian in the kitchen, sometimes letting easy conversations flow between them, but other times, just like this— just sinking into each other’s presence in the silence. Ian’s shadow mingling with the moonlight on the kitchen floor immediately snapped the atmosphere from lonely and self-pitying and stale to something lighter, something familiar—like the worn, buttery leather of a baseball glove that fits just right.

Instantly Lip was brought back to so many nights before this, of he and Ian orbiting each other in the kitchen at night— when they were kids and would creep down the stairs and eat fistfuls of junk food that Fiona had forbidden, or steal warm sips of the open beers Frank had left on the counter. This was where they’d processed Monica’s return, late at night while they passed a cigarette between them and Ian hadn’t tried to hide the tears that were freely rolling down his freckled cheeks, back when they were both just confused kids who clung to each other— this was where they’d processed Frank’s alcoholic meltdowns, too many to count, and all the love and loss and confusion that had passed between these walls, all the collateral damage of living in this fucking neighborhood. And Lip felt a sudden pang in his gut, sharp and present, when he realized that it might be one of the last nights that he and Ian got to spend in the kitchen like this.

Lip immediately shoved the thought down with all his might, a hydraulic press squeezing out any sentimentality. He had to do this— for Freddie, for Tami. He had to man up and move on, even if it meant physically wounding the crumbling walls to ease the pain of the parallel jagged wounds somewhere deep in his chest, or screaming and shouting until veins popped in his neck, so loud that he knew he was radiating his pain outwards like a fucking atomic bomb.

But tonight, Lip had no more fight left to give. He just wanted to let these four walls hold him one last time, without even realizing that was what he had needed until this moment. Ian slid a chair out from the kitchen table and sat beside him, leaning back and dragging out a slow, sleepy breath.

Lip cleared his throat, softly. “Where’s Mick?”

“Passed out upstairs.” Ian scrubbed a hand over his face. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Lip raised his eyebrow, almost involuntarily, and Ian immediately jutted his chin up in a half-nod, an affirmation, as he leaned back even farther and took the first sip of his beer. No, he wasn’t manic and yes, he was fine. After all the years that had passed since Ian was still figuring this shit out, Lip sometimes forgot that checking in on him wasn’t really his job, not anymore.

Lip took another sip from his soda can, a movement to fill the easy silence. “How was your guys’ night?”

Ian shrugged non-committally, his shoulders still slumped back in the chair, his lips puckered around the mouth of the bottle as he stared off into the distance at the peeling kitchen wallpaper. “Eh. It was fine. I dragged Mickey out to try and make more gay friends. Ended up being a mistake.”

Lip held back a laugh, taking a sip from his own drink to mask his smirk. He had ample auditory evidence that Mickey was plenty as gay as Ian, but it was still hard to imagine Mickey leaning into all of this shit— Ian used to wear golden underwear and frequent gay clubs and go to social justice brunches, but none of that really seemed like it was Mickey’s scene.

“Oh yeah? Mickey not the easiest person to befriend?” Lip said it with his eyebrows raised, like the joke was obvious.

Ian looked up at him, like he’d been snapped out of a sleepy train of thought, staring earnestly like Lip’s jab had flown right over his head. “Actually, it was kind of my fault. I was the one who made us leave this dinner party thing we got invited to. They were all talking shit about the Southside, about how they hated their families, and I couldn’t really… connect with them, I guess.”

Lip pondered that, taking a breath and stretching his arms above his head. God, he was sore— he hadn’t even been fucking working, aside from hauling those bikes from place to place to avoid the cops, but all the pent up stress and tension was starting to linger in his bones.

“Yeah, it was the same for me. In college, or whatever. Joaquin was the only person I really talked to, because he got all the shit I was always going through.”

Ian nodded contemplatively—but he was staring off into space again, almost like he was half asleep. Lip took another sip of his soda. He could bring up the house shit again right now—it was all that they’d been talking about for the past few weeks—but for some reason it felt too raw, too intense to bring up right now, like it would cut through this peaceful moment, this island in the vast sea of uncertainty Lip knew he was bringing down on all of their heads. So in this moment, he opted for smoother waters.

“Why’d you guys go looking for new friends, anyways?”

Ian finally broke out of whatever drowsy, pensive trance he’d been in, his lips sloping into a smile. “Mickey kept giving me shit for always doing what you do, after breakfast today. I figured… I don’t know, I just got all pissy and tried to prove him wrong.”

Lip felt the corner of his mouth tick upward at that. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Ian grinned, and held out his beer bottle, stretching his arm across the table. Lip tapped it with his soda can with a light “Cheers,” then took the final sip. He crushed the can to a disk on the table, pressing it down firmly with the heel of his palm and watching the sides compress. Ian’s eyes were cast downward at the table, watching his movements.

“How’s stuff with you and Tami going, all the packing and shit?”

Lip turned the flattened can on its side, contemplatively spinning it like a top on the table and fidgeting with it between his fingers.

“Honestly? I’m fucking exhausted.”

He could hear the breathiness as he said it, how deflated his own voice sounded. And Lip knew could make himself say more— he knew if anyone would get it, Ian would.

“It’s just… fuck, man.”

He looked up and Ian was staring directly at him now, his expression unguarded— listening. Listening like he always did in these moments. Lip let out a low chuckle, trying to shield his own vulnerability.

“How’d we get so fucking old? How is this… it, y’know? Finally leaving the fucking nest, or whatever.”

Ian smiled, placing his beer on the table. “I think you already left the nest when you had a baby and moved into an apartment with your girlfriend.”

Lip shrugged, fiddling with the crushed can again between his fingertips. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

“And you are the one making us do this, for the record.”

If Ian’s tone wasn’t as playful or as tentative as it was, Lip would have worried that he was upset— but judging by Ian’s still-comfortable slouch and his steady expression, Lip knew he was fine— he was weathering the storm, just like Lip was.

Ian leaned forward.

“Hey. Mickey was giving me shit—but it is true. You’re my best friend, even though you can be a fucking asshole sometimes.” Ian’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Ian’s eyes flickered around the kitchen as he spoke, and Lip heard everything that was unsaid. Even though you’re kicking us out of the house. Even though you’re changing everything. Even though there isn’t a focal point to our lives anymore.

You’re my best friend.

And Lip felt that pang in his gut again, sharp like a dagger.

He’d said it before, and he’d had no problem saying it over and over again in Mickey’s absence, up until the months before the wedding— Ian did always go a little bit “loco” when Mickey was around.

Which, fuck him, I guess, for caring about his little brother with an undiagnosed mental illness who was off living in the Milkovich House of Horrors slash meth lab with Mickey fucking Milkovich, the bully with greasy hair who Lip wrote papers for in high school and who now was a literal, actual, godforsaken pimp. Lip had seen a teenage Ian bruised and drunk and curled into himself crying over Mickey too many times to ever think that this shit was a good idea— and years later, when Ian almost threw away everything, almost threw away stability and sanity and his fucking family to follow Mickey Milkovich across the Mexican border, Lip knew he had to say something, even though it was an unspoken rule that he and Ian didn’t really critique each other’s love lives since the Mandy-and-Karen fiascos of years past.

So he’d said it, that day in the kitchen, after Ian had returned on a Greyhound bus and they were still processing the dull pain of Monica’s loss— and Ian had taken the feedback with a closed-lip smile, like his head was somewhere else, as he picked at the corner of the beer bottle label with his thumb.

And then less than a year later Mickey was released anyways, and ended up standing in a tank top and boxers in the middle of the Gallagher living room, when the house was crawling with strangers and Freddie was barely two weeks old— and Lip had taken in a sharp breath, a bundle of hesitant nerves sprouting for whatever the fuck this situation was going to become; but not one that he could really give attention to, with all the other bullshit that was pulling at his focus, like the desperate screeching of his newborn kid and the mascara running down Tami’s face.

Later that night, when he’d had a spare moment to breathe and Tami was finally calmed down and sleeping in their cramped bedroom, he’d run into Ian in the moonlit hallway as he was stumbling his way out of the bathroom, drowsily rubbing his eyes with his hair sticking up. And Lip had stopped him with a whisper, placing a hand to tap Ian’s shoulder as Ian blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey. So uh… I see Mickey’s out.”

He’d seen the defenses immediately raise in Ian’s eyes, like he knew what Lip was going to say next.

“Yeah.” Ian had said it soft, quietly, like he was afraid of someone waking.

You sure that’s a good idea? Lip could feel the words itching on the tip of his tongue, and he was aching to say them again, all these years later— and yes, maybe his head was so wrapped up in his own shit that he didn’t really have the authority to be doling out relationship advice to his little brother right now, but so much of this reminded him of things that had happened in the past, of Mickey Milkovich crashing on Ian’s bedroom floor until he inevitably couldn’t anymore, until the pressure cooker of his presence mingled with Ian’s inevitably exploded— or at least that was how Lip saw it. There were too many wounds, and they were bound to leave scars— Lip was honestly surprised as fuck that the Gallagher house was Mickey’s first stop out of prison, after everything that had gone down between the two of them.

But, for Ian’s sake, Lip tried to reign it in—despite the fact that they’d just been commiserating about “being in love with crazy people” as they crouched on the living room stairs the night before as Ian sipped on a beer, sputtering out a “fuck no” when Lip asked if he was going to marry Mickey (which was an equally as batshit question as if Lip was going to marry Tami). Despite all of this— now that Mickey was back, Lip could see that this was something Ian wanted, that this was something Ian was treading carefully into, one more time. He was definitely stronger now; even Lip could see that.

“He gonna be hanging around here a while?”

Ian had given a gentle, sleepy smile. “Yeah. Think so.”

And Lip had just reached out, and clapped Ian’s sleep-warmed body on the shoulder. “Sounds good, man.”

Ian had walked the remaining length of the hallway, opening the bedroom door— and in the shadows, Lip could see that Mickey was curled on the old, concave mattress of Ian’s single bed that he’d slept on since they were kids— and Ian had lifted the thin blanket and pressed up next to him, the mattress sinking beneath their collective weight, settling in and pressing a kiss to the top of a snoring Mickey’s head without a second thought. Huh.

That was the beginning of Lip starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, this time with Mickey would be different— and it was. As Mickey started to become a daily fixture in the Gallagher house, constantly pinned to Ian’s side, Lip had noticed how something solid had shifted—they weren’t reckless kids anymore, for starters. He hadn’t really seen Mick and Ian physically together since Ian was catapulting off the deep end, in the weeks after Ian had gotten dragged away by the P.I.s and Mickey had gotten locked up for some crazy fucking stunt trying to murder Sammy. Things were too intense then, too technicolor—for some reason, Lip thought Mickey being back meant that they’d return to being that way.

But now here was this guy, placing a gentle hand on Ian’s chest and saying “Woah, wait a minute” to protect Ian from the batshit P.O. that had just barged through the door—and Lip couldn’t help but realize that was something that he would have done to protect Ian, in a universe where Mickey was still behind bars.

After then, Lip just kept seeing it— the ways that Mickey showed up for Ian. Not even in the ways that he used to, like forcing Ian to take his meds back when everything was uncertain and Ian was slipping through their fingers like sand in a sieve; but in a more solid, adult way, in a way that made Ian buzz whenever he was around him, in a way that made Ian happier and lighter. And maybe it was just the sex—part of it had to be the fucking sex, considering how loud they always were— but Lip realized, after a couple of weeks of Mickey’s presence in the house before their whole eventual engagement fiasco, that Mickey was Ian’s friend, in addition to all the other things he was. After all the years of uncertainty, they’d finally grown the fuck up— Mickey was someone who brought out the best in Ian, and it was like Ian had been waiting for this moment, for Mickey by his side, before he could fully and totally bloom.

And it was weird how emotional that made Lip— after seeing Ian as a hollow shell in a jumpsuit pushing garbage cans around a college campus, or pretending to be someone he wasn’t who wore patterned button-up shirts and threw around fucking useless five-dollar words that Lip didn’t understand like “gender identity” and “intersectionality”— Ian had finally made it, beyond being the bruised, scrawny kid getting sexually abused by a creepy 30 year old man in the back room of a mini-mart, or getting high off his ass every night and starving himself to fit into a golden thong, or wearing a baggy janitor suit with dark circles under his eyes and pallid skin. Ian had done that shit on his own, and made himself into something in Mickey’s absence, sure— but so much of him being the full, happy person he was in this moment was because of Mickey, and Lip could see that now.

Ian was himself— he wasn’t a shadow anymore.

And that was why Lip had said he thought he should marry Mickey, in the end— because there was no doubt in his mind that Mickey Milkovich wasn’t going anywhere, not anytime soon.

Lip could still see it now, in the way that Ian was lounging comfortably in the living room, like he had his whole life— but now Mickey was resting just as comfortably beside him. It was a few weeks after that night in the kitchen, and Lip had just pitched the FOR SALE sign in the Gallagher front yard— now everyone was huddled in the living room, for what they now knew was one of their last lingering nights in this space. Liam was sitting next to Lip, pressed into his side, seeking the comfort that Lip knew he needed through all of these massive fucking changes— Franny was playing on the floor and Debbie was sitting beside her, and across the room Ian and Mickey were pressed side-by-side on the fraying loveseat, scrolling through the lease document for their new apartment on the battered laptop. They were murmuring things to each other that Lip couldn’t really make out— but Mickey was pressed against Ian, slouching into him slightly, and Ian’s eyes were light. In his flicker of a glance towards them, Lip noticed that Mickey was playing with Ian’s hand, swiping a finger over his wedding ring, as Ian scrolled through the paperwork and started to read all the contract information out loud— and Lip smiled to himself as he tried to tune out all the sappy bullshit that was going on in that corner of the room.

Ian was going to be just fine.

Hour later Lip strode out the door to the front porch, a cigarette he’d bummed off of Ian wrapped in his fist— he didn’t smoke anymore, especially not under the same roof as Tami, but there was something about the gravity of this night, of the flimsy red and white sign rooted in the front yard, that made Lip’s fingertips itch for a cigarette and made his brain buzz with the want of nicotine to dull the sharp edges of everything he was feeling—for smoke to float in front of his face while he sat on the front steps just one more time.

He perched on the front steps as the sun was just starting to set, the fish-scale shadows of the chain link fence encroaching further and further into the yard as he flicked at his lighter.

He heard a light cough from somewhere in front of him— and saw that Mickey was outside too, blowing smoke out of his mouth and leaning against the fence in the front yard facing the house. Lip nodded at him in acknowledgement, then took the first drag. Fuck, he’d needed this.

“You gonna miss this place?”

Mickey said it into the open air, like he isn’t really talking to Lip— his eyes were off in the distance, staring at the paint-chipped front façade of the house. Which was fucking bullshit—why would Mickey be staring absentmindedly, almost fucking wistfully, at the Gallagher house?

It’s not like he and Mickey didn’t talk— they definitely did, pragmatically flinging banter across the kitchen to each other at breakfast when coordinating rides for Liam or grocery list items when Debbie was off at work, existing in the same space every morning— and Mickey helped him haul literal tons of iron when he’d helped him steal the bikes, had haggled over his cut. But never like this—never with any weight, never in a way that was this casual, or this familial, about fucking feelings.

Part of that was probably because it was hard as fuck to worm your way into the Gallagher family—as wide open as their door always seemed to be, with people filtering in and out and crashing on hallway floors or the lumpy couch, this house only continued to function because of its nucleus— because of Lip and Ian and Carl and Debbie and Fiona and Liam and yes, even Frank. Everyone else was a passerby, an impermanent blip crossing through the way station; Jimmy-Steve, Sean, Carl’s slew of girls, Mandy and Karen.

Monica.

None of them were Gallaghers— none of them considered this place to be home, or got all the privileges that came with that. The Gallaghers, the real Gallaghers, had seen every one of these people come and go— and something slippery suddenly crept into Lip’s realization that despite all the odds, despite all of his doubts about him—Mickey had chosen to stay close to these four walls just as much as Lip had.

“Mickey’s family.” Ian had said it over a mouthful of bacon at breakfast a few weeks ago, and Lip had immediately shot him down; but maybe there was some truth to what Ian had said, some truth to the oddly unfailing consistency to Mickey’s ten years. Which meant that maybe…

Maybe it was time to make a fucking peace offering, or whatever.

Lip hummed in acknowledgement to Mickey’s question, pulling himself out of his train of thought.

“Hey. Mick.”

Mickey looked up at where Lip was leaning on the porch, his brows furrowing like he was bracing himself for a confrontation. “Yeah?”

“My head’s been too far up my ass the past couple of months to say it, but, uh. I’m glad you’re family, y’know?”

He’d been passively thinking it for months— but he’d never said it to Mickey, never this directly. He hoped Mickey got it, without brushing it off or shooting him down with some snarky fucking comment like he always did. Lip meant it— he was glad, he was grateful, he was ready to let Mickey Milkovich keep being a part of his fucked up familial life. And he hoped that Mickey saw that.

Mickey just rolled his eyes, taking another drag of his cigarette—but he didn’t say anything in reply, not for a moment. And then:

“You’re as sappy as your fucking brother, Phillip.”

#i’ve said it once and ill say it again nothing makes me more emo than ian and mickey sharing ian’s old bed #also sorry this was kinda ANGSTY what can i say #lip is Too Much #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm

188 notes · View notes

catchmewiddershins · 4 years

Text

What it’s like to be loved by them

Ah yes I am throwing out some scraps of content because I finally was able to free up some time to write! And then had no ideas! So we’re doing something cliché lol - Also I used a random character wheel to pick who to write for- (I CAN’T SPELL HINATA’S FIRST NAME IT ALL LOOKS WRONG)

Includes: Miya Osamu, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hinata Shoyou, Yaku Morisuke, Akaashi Keiji, Oikawa Tooru and Shouhei Fukunaga

Miya Osamu:

Osamu is silver-blue piano and soft chords, the sunlight that slips so softly through the slats on blinds that are slightly broken, the slightly sticky feeling of wet rice in your hands as it fits into the lines that weave across your palms. He is white, cotton blankets and fluffed pillows, cloudy lemonade and losing sight of your toes in a thick carpet. He’s the feeling of calloused fingers on yours, fluffy socks and the taste of warm soups in winter as it breathes its hot steam down your throat and heats your stomach. He is cold cheeks and noses, tea-stained pages and the golden scent of fresh bread that signifies the best feelings of life. Osamu is hand-knitted tea cosies and watercolour paintings blu-tacked to the wall, warm, buttered popcorn and the feeling of the highstreet at night. He is the lights that glimmer on the midnight motorway and moon when it's risen in a blue afternoon sky. Being loved by Osamu is to bob on the ocean, the sun at your back and baking your legs, with salt crusting your skin and the taste of the sea on your lips while his fingers lock with yours, the perfect puzzle pieces to finish you both as the crowing laughs of seagulls echo above you.

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

Ushijima is solid wood and tall forests, the green sound of a breeze ruffling grass like a father’s hand on the head of his child. He is apples and ice cubes and soft, plaid blankets laid on the dirt. He is the sight of a small ladybird, crouched on the tip of a finger, wings spread to fly into the great expanse of sky that stretches before it. He is red sunrises and purple evenings, the hazy, grey brightness that slows the day, the syrupy sluggish afternoons of drizzled rain and icing on lemon cakes, eaten with hot tea in a library. He is muffled laughter in the corridors and coats and hands that swamp and cover and protect, and the feeling of always looking up, up, up. He is the dusty, old clock you found in the attic and the wooden slats of old houses, he is peeling plaster and new paint, and the squeak and shine of polished floors. He is secret passages through the walls and flights of stairs that extend to infinity, and the deep, throbbing, beetroot purple of the tightest hugs that root themselves down into your chest. Being loved by Ushijima is being loved by the bass line of life, it’s his hand on your head and the other hovering at your waist, slow dancing to songs that weren’t meant for such smooth delight, him spinning you out as the air sparkles and being close to the beat of his heart and mind as you glide and dip and swerve to the thrum of his voice.

Hinata Shoyou:

Hinata is the tightness in your thighs they day after exercise and the sweet tang of mangoes in summer. He's August days when the ground wavers and the grass becomes caramel. He is hot red bricks under bare feet and the dizzying height of the walls of your garden. He is water fights and sprinklers in the baking sun, the squinting eyes and glaring lights, the shortest shorts you own. He is the smokey scent of sausage that stings and waters your tongue, the barbequed weekends and idle chatter of friends and the chink of ice that melts too quickly in glasses of juice that have been kept in the fridge. He's the soft comfort of pyjamas and burning hot skin on a cold day, marshmallows and fire and smouldering logs. He is the dance of heated air and the warmth that fogs the bathroom mirror. He is sand in your toes at one moment and the top of a cliff the next. Being loved by Hinata is the kites that float over the hilltops and the whipped foam of waves and the splattered paint of blankets, the mismatch of deckchairs and parasols at the beach, a sandcastle and the flagpole on top, and the horizon that stretches so far into the distance.

Yaku Morisuke:

Yaku is beaming, sunshine laughter and the ruffled hair of little kids. He is the background chatter in a café and the music playing in your favourite shops, the rushing of places and people as you're dragged down the street on your way to somewhere special. He's the thud, thud, thud of sprinting down a massive hill as the air is ripped from your lungs and your joyful screams are lost to the spiraling sky. He's the blur of green and blue and the smell of grass as you roll half of the way. He is the juice of melting ice lollies and the teasing winks of wind chimes by the sea, he's the sticky residue of broken stems that leaves itself on your fingers after the construction of a daisy chain. He's the light of a phone screen in the dark and the print of an old book where the s and f look irritatingly similar. He is the warmth of your own bed and the scent of your own home, the feeling of old clothes and attachment. Being loved by Yaku is to call to the birds that circle overhead and to feed fresh strawberries to one another, to play fight with sticks and paint your legs with grass stains and to trundle home with the exhaustion that comes from euphoria, sharing a hand, high on life.

Akaashi Keiji:

Akaashi is a lake, clear as glass and just as cold, although not the biting cold, but the cold that invites hot chocolate and a log fire. He is the lakes that teem with fish that nudge your numbing fingers and make you wonder at the world, he is the sunlight that glints off of slick rocks and your glimmering skin. He's the royal blue of day and the navy of night, the colour of the ocean, and of flowers, and of the quiet hum of a cello played delicately. He is the fingers of trees that reach to the sun, and the crunching silence of wet autumn leaves, the scent of old books and ink and the eternal echo of time in a museum. He is the sculpted face of statue and the warmth of a flushed face, the fragility of butterfly wings and flower petals and the strength of the trunk of an oak. He is hummingbirds and kingfishers and the simmering yellow of a springtime kiss. He is the sun at your neck and the shade of a tree above you, the splash of a diving duck and the tickle of grass on your bare feet. Being loved by Akaashi is staring up at him from where you sit, serene tranquility, the faint thrum of a river beneath you as your hand disturbs it, the creak of an aging wooden boat and the dappled sunlight that streams through the trees as he rows you to love.

Oikawa Tooru:

Oikawa is the tinkling of bells and the birdsong that flies in the early morning. He is the banded sunrise and all of its colours, the yellow songs on the radio that you sing along to, the orange-gold warmth of early evening, the pink of a blush on his cheeks, the purple light of the night that casts his face into shadow and the navy blue of his wallpaper. He is doodles on desks and using highlighter ink for nail varnish, he is cute stationery and over-curled handwriting and the giggles that come from sharing a secret. He is the creak of benches that have been sat on too many times and the blinding colours of tropical fish in an aquarium. He’s the blasting sound of loud radio, the rush of windows wide open at seventy miles an hour, the pressure against an arm thrown out of the window and the crescendo of voices singing at the top of their lungs until your voices crack and your throats are deserts. Being loved by Oikawa is whipped cream on your nose and joyful laughter, pancakes on the ceiling and sprinkles scattered over the floor, it’s playing children’s games while waiting for a cake to cook, and snuggling up with popcorn in a fairy-light bedecked fort, with foundations of cotton and walls of blankets as the white glare of television shines in your eyes.

Shouhei Fukunaga:

Fukunaga is uncontrollable giggling and whispered jokes, he is the fire-engine red of plastic buckets and spades, the sweetness of sugary treats and the fizz of sherbert on your tongue. He is brightly coloured doors and hanging baskets of flowers, the unevenness of cobbled streets and pastel houses. He’s the soft song of a springtime breeze when it brushes your cheek with a tender hand and blows your eyes open, dusting your face and head, the exhilarating rush of staring into the wind, the drop in your stomach as you lean backwards into its support. He is the chime of a shop door and the crinkle of packets that have been piled into your arms, the warmth of a kitchen and the taste of joy. He’s puns and playful nudges and blinding grins, crinkling eyes and soft cheeks stretched wide, he’s homemade food and the sparkling expression of the one who made it, he’s the warmth of a borrowed jumper, the mould of a side that you fit to so easily, the clicking of a keyboard when online games are played together. He is the snacks that have melted slightly in his bag, odd socks with garish patterns, googly eyes stuck all over his books, doodles in the margins and fluffy pencil toppers, dancing with no rhythm to old songs in the kitchen and letting yourselves go wild. Being loved by Fukunaga is to lie under the coffee table, your eyes falling into his as he stares you down, deft fingers nimbly shuffling cards, it’s to laugh in disbelief as he pulls your card from the deck, eyebrows wiggling their way off of his face, a playful beam poking through his lips, your legs are tangled together and one of your arms is going numb but it doesn’t matter, you are his and he is yours.

132 notes · View notes

fortunaaamajor · 4 years

Text

Something in the Way (Fred Weasley)

Fred Weasley x Reader

The trope of everyone else knowing two people are in love before the two have figured it out is just so adorable to me, I love reading it so thought I’d try my hand at writing it...

Fem!Reader, no house mentioned, no specific physical features

Warnings: None I don’t think

Word Count: 1.6k

Although I am using the Harry Potter universe as a basis for this story I do not support JK Rowling or her views.

Fred and Y/N’s relationship was special, everyone knew that. What they shared was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Fred and Y/N’s relationship was loving and tender, both always willing to put the other first whatever the cost. Fred and Y/N’s relationship was lasting, for the last three years they had been looking at each other like they were the sole reason for the stars in the sky, the mists on the mountains and the full, glowing moon.

Except Fred and Y/N’s relationship didn’t exist. The two had been dancing around each other all this time, never quite getting close enough to call it love.

This was why their family and friends were on high alert, overanalyzing every look, comment, or touch exchanged by the pair. Sometimes it was the glance thrown by Ginny to George as Fred adjusted Y/N’s scarf to keep her warmer. Sometimes it was Mr and Mrs Weasley whispering conspiracies about how they couldn’t pinpoint the look in Fred’s eyes when he stared at Y/N intently at dinner earlier. Sometimes it was the abrupt and secretive silence that engulfed Harry, Hermione and Ron when Y/N appeared in front of them, bringing an end to their discussion about how oblivious the two were.

Just the other day at the Burrow the twins had been helping to decorate the tree when Molly had piped up

“Will Y/N be visiting this Christmas?” Fred’s head whipped round to frown at his mother as he finished adjusting some of the shiny muggle ‘tinsel’ Arthur Weasley had gleefully presented to his family,

“Why would Y/N be visiting?” he had questioned, shaking his head slightly and looking towards George, who averted his eyes towards a particulary intriguing bewitched bauble.

“Oh no reason,” Molly’s face fell “I just wanted to make sure she had some plans is all, dear...”

“Yeah, she does. She’s away until the new year actually” Fred had huffed, confused as to why his mother seemed more keen to spend time with his best friend than with him.

It was a frosty Saturday in January that Y/N had sent an owl saying she was popping in that afternoon to check out the stock for the new year. The air was clean and crisp yet cold enough that not many shoppers were braving the chill to visit Diagon Alley. The boys leant against the counter, George fumbling with some packaging distractedly. Ron was also working that day, taking his sweet time stacking some Blaze Boxes in the corner. Fred’s eyes kept darting to the clock,

“When did she say she’d stop by again?” he asked nonchalantly, causing George to look up

“Eh, just said afternoon I think mate, don’t worry though I’m sure we won’t be too busy to have her in” he gestured to the empty shop.

Fred stayed silent. In the corner a loud bang erupted as Ron dropped one of the boxes. Bright sparks whizzed round the room, popping and fizzing as Ron stood swearing at the front of the shop. George began to laugh but was interrupted by his twin, fist was clenched and brow furrowed -

“Bloody hell Ron, save some stock for us to actually sell, would you?”

Fred’s tone was snarky and a comment that biting sounded so strange leaving his mouth that it took all three boys aback for a moment.

“I’m not sure who spiked your cereal this morning but you can lose that tone with me... maybe when Y/N gets here you’ll be a bit nicer!” Ron pouted.

“Y/N’s clearly forgotten about her plans for this afternoon, or she’d be here by now.” Fred muttered, pushing past George on his way to the stock room.

George and Ron exchanged familiar confused looks, over the three years Y/N had been in Fred’s life an entirely new language of bewildered or disbelieving stares had formed amongst the Weasleys. Fred didn’t emerge until the bell above the door rang and Y/N’s soft voice greeted them all joyfully. As if a weight had been lifted off his chest he bounded past the till and embraced her tightly.

“I missed you, loser.”

Only a week later, the twins were sitting opposite each other, both focusing on checking the shop’s accounts (or so Fred thought) George had been turning the last interaction between his brother and Y/N over and over in his mind, wondering how on earth Fred hadn’t connected his bad mood to the absence of his dearest ‘friend’. He coughed and sat up, straightening his back, but failed to make eye contact with his brother who was still hunched over the large leather-bound book.

“Why do you think Y/N is single?” he pondered aloud, noting the way Fred’s head flicked up at the mention of her name alone.

“That’s obvious - nobody we know is good enough for her.” Fred stated, as if George was silly for not considering such a simple explanation.

“Ah yeah... obviously,” George coughed, attempting to hide his laugh. He made eye contact with his twin “are you sure we don’t know anyone?” he asked slowly, hoping Fred might finally catch on.

“Listen, I don’t know what this is all about but if you’re thinking of trying anything I would advise you to check the mirror to confirm that you closely resemble a mountain troll.. and I know it’s been 2 days since you last showered, therefore Y/N would never even consider it, okay?” Fred snapped

George spluttered with laughter before managing to stammer out

“First off, we’re identical you absolute savage.”

Fred just shook his head, “Anyone with taste knows I’m the better looking twin.”

Fred wasn’t just fiercely protective of Y/N but he would also go to the ends of the earth for her, this much was clear to everyone...except her. It started with one, two, three butterbeers on him and developed into Y/N being able to attend plans with the twins without her purse. It was established that Fred would not allow her to part with as much as a knut whilst in his company. Nor would he allow her to spend it on his company, any product she showed interest in (or looked at for more than five seconds) was hastily put aside for her, sometimes with a shimmering ribbon clumsily knotted round it.

“As a gift, on the house, absolutely no need for your money darling” he would assure her every single time.

In fact, the only payment he would accept was if she came to work for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes - “you’d be amazing, Y/N you’re so good with kids, and I know you can really push sales - who could say no to you?” he had pleaded, whilst she flushed red and chuckled... “funnily enough Freddie, pretty much everyone apart from you can say no to me, you poor sod!”

This hypothesis was correct, and had been proven time and time again. When everyone gathered for dinner at Harry and Ginny’s house instead of apparating in Fred, Y/N and George had stood shivering on the doorstep, waiting for the door to be answered. When Ginny pulled it open all three of them bundled in to the warm hallway, slipping off coats and hats.

“Why didn’t you guys apparate? It’s bloody freezing out there tonight!” she had remarked, noting that all three had cheeks flushed with cold and pink shading the tips of their noses. George tutted and glared at Fred, speaking lowly so only Ginny could hear

“Because, my dear sister, Y/N doesn’t really like apparating so obviously Fred wouldn’t allow it!” At the same time Y/N piped up, not having heard his comment,

“We all fancied a walk I think didn’t we Freddie?... George?”

George rolled his eyes but nodded enthusiastically and Y/N beamed as Ginny led them through to the dining room as the feeling in their fingertips began to return.

The spread that had been prepared looked divine, the smell travelled through the whole house and made Fred’s mouth water.

Food was shared around and wine poured, everyone caught up on the excitement of Christmas and the New Year, and congratulated the twins on the soaring sales of the new launch. George took the chance to mention his new girlfriend, Guenevere, to the group - causing Ginny and Hermione to squeal with delight and Ron to lean over and smack him on the back in congratulations. Harry nodded along with the conversation, focused on the plate infront of him. That is, until he looked at Fred quizically

“When do you think you’ll meet someone, Fred?” he asked gently, with not a hint of malice in his voice, if anything he was trying to nudge Fred’s thoughts of the future towards Y/N, who sat on his left.

The atmosphere in the room felt a little like a joke that everyone except Fred and Y/N were in on, everyone waited with baited breath for Fred to talk. They gasped slightly when he turned to face Y/N... then George...

“Um, I don’t know, really, at the moment I’m alright just hanging out with George and Y/N, they’re all I really need just now... and you guys, of course, and the shop. But that all goes without saying”

The entire table let out a frustrated sigh, they had been so close but were once again disappointed with his answer, Fred was none the wiser.

‘Goes without saying my arse’ George (and the others) thought grumpily. All they wanted was Fred to say it, to say anything, to call it what it was.

The two had been dancing around each other almost four years, still never getting close enough to call it love.

A/N: Thought I’d give another bit of Fred writing a go, as my George one has been so much more popular than my last Fred one, give the boy a chance! Also this kind of invites a part two, so if anyone has any suggestions of scenarios in which these two finally get together, send em my way. Much love.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fic #harry potter imagines #harry potter one shots #harry potter fic #fred weasley fluff #hp fic #hp imagine #hp one shot #fred weasley

312 notes · View notes

jewish-space-laser · 4 years

Note

ok i have an idea for a cbl blurb? could u do a blurb from harry’s pov from the night where he got drunk and how he felt when he saw yn and stuff? ik it already happened but i think seeing it from his viewpoint would be interesting!

Could be Lethal - Part Three (Harry’s POV)

“And every time I’ve held a rose, It seems I only felt the thorns, And so it goes, and so it goes, And so will you soon I suppose...”

– And So It Goes, Billie Joel

HELLO EVERYONE! It’s been months since I’ve posted anything on here, but I randomly got the motivation to pick this up last week. I apologize in advance for my rusty writing skills! This ask has literally been sitting in my inbox for 10 months, so posting it actually feels quite cleansing. Anyway, here is a (long) blurb full of angst, angst, and you guessed it, angst! I hope you love Harry’s take of that night as much as I do. I love you all muchly, thank you for your ongoing love and support <3 xoxoxoxoxoxoxooox Tile

(3.8k word)

You and Harry were friends, with a capital ‘F’. Yeah, you’ve been sleeping in his bed for the past two months, and maybe your entire nervous system goes into hyperdrive when you’re in the same room, but that’s normal, right?

The one where you and Harry have an arrangement… of the cuddling sort.

See the CBL masterlist here!

WARNING: Detailed descriptions of heavy drinking

~~~

It was bullshit. It was all bullshit.

Harry was miserable. He knew it, his friends knew it, his family knew it… it seemed the only person who wasn’t picking up on his desperation was you.

You were a complete enigma to him. Sometimes, you were the warmest, most open person he’d ever met, indulging him with interesting conversations, stupid jokes, and even the occassional existential discussion. It was always difficult for Harry to truly open up to a person, having been jaded time and time again by people who weren’t able to look past his famous exterior.

That’s what makes it so much harder, he thinks. Knowing you properly, you knowing him properly. It made the moments where you were closed off harsher, colder, more difficult to read.

Since you left his house two days prior, he had done just about anything he could to take his mind off of you. He loved thinking about you, but he also hated thinking about you. It was tortuous and circular and he just wanted a brief moment of emotional respite.

No, he didn’t want respite, he needed it.

So he watched all three Lord of the Rings movies in a row, tested out a new stir fry recipe, spent way too much money online shopping, and even scrolled through the Humane Society website in a moment of weakness. But none of it mattered, because even if he could distract himself for a moment, you were still there, lingering in the peripherals of his mind like a song stuck in his head.

It was dizzying and mind-boggling, and Harry was at a loss for what to do. So when Sunday morning rolled around and it still felt like his lungs were being crushed into a ball, he started drinking.

It was only 8:00AM, but he bypassed the coffee cabinet and went straight to the fridge, pulling out a chilled bottle of champagne. The pop of the cork was as loud as a gunshot, but Harry didn’t even flinch, hardly registering the sound of it hitting the floor across the room as he rushed the bottle to his lips.

Bubbles fizzed past his tongue and dripped down his chin, sliding down his bare chest before puddling on the floor. He had to squeeze his eyes shut tightly at the burn of the carbonation, but each gulp sent pleasant tingles over his skin.

For the first time in ages, his mind felt numb. He didn’t necessarily feel good, but he didn’t feel miserable anymore, and that’s what mattered. He could close his eyes without seeing your smile flash in his head, he could listen to music without immediately relating the lyrics to you, and after his second bottle of wine, he was even able to brew a cup of coffee without thinking of you.

Okay, maybe he thought of you a little.

At some point, he passed out on the couch, cartons of Vietnamese takeout sitting cold on his coffee table. When his eyes finally blinked open, the sun had already started to set.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. There was a familiar ache pulsing behind his eyes, and he groaned loudly into his empty house. It never used to feel empty, but now you’d come and gone, and it was too late. You’d left your mark on his house and his coffee and his heart… so he drank more.

There was no more wine, so he started in on his collection of hard liquor, expensive bottles lined on top of his cupboards. Normally they were reserved for when he had guests over, but this fell into the realm of desperation. His sunken eyes scanned the glass bottles before settling on the cheapest of them, an unopened Maker’s Mark. It would do.

He was pouring a healthy sized glass of the whisky, and then suddenly he wasn’t. His heavy eyes blinked in confusion as he stared across the bar at the bartender, who was raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“That’ll be thirty-five pounds, mate,” the bartender said, “got roped into buying the first round, eh?”

“Yeah,” Harry grunted, glancing over his shoulder to see Thomas and Jessie watching him from a booth.

He doesn’t remember leaving his house, let alone coming to the pub with his friends. In fact, if he tried to think about it, his memory of the entire day felt fragmented, like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together.

In his mind, this was a success. A full day gone without thinking about you or talking to you or seeing you. The clock behind the bar read 00:43 in red neon numbers. He took one of the shots quickly, signing the bill and taking the remaining five back to his friends.

“Harry mate, we told you we’re not getting pissed tonight,” Thomas groaned, “what’d you get six shots for?”

“What kind are they?” Jessie asked, wrinkling their nose.

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged, setting the tray down directly in front of himself. His vision swayed to and fro, but he still managed to down another shot, disregarding the concerned look his friends shared. “It’s rum. If you don’t want any, that’s fine.”

“It’s a Sunday, mate,” Thomas reminded him gently.

“We’re at a pub, aren’t we?” Harry slurred. “Supposed to get drunk here.”

“You asked us to come here,” Jessie said slowly, “said you needed to talk to us about something.”

Harry blinked at them slowly, swaying slightly in his seat. He didn’t remember any of this.

“Actually, he said he needed a drink,” Thomas corrected, “I didn’t realize he meant twenty drinks.”

Another shot burned down his throat, and then everything was cold.

“Harry.”

His head was pounding. Every limb felt heavy. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes, already overwhelmed by the echo of Thomas’s voice reverberating off of the tile floors.

“Harry.”

He knew that somebody was trying to get his attention, but he just couldn’t. The alcohol had done its job for most of the day, keeping his brain muddled down and diluted just to spare him the pain of remembering. But now, it backfired, trapping him inside his own head with no way out, with nothing to do but remember. He could hear people talking in the background, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was as if he was underwater, slipping further and further down with each painful clench of his heart.

He felt a hand press against his arm, and jerked away, causing his stomach to twist. He didn’t want to be here anymore, and he certainly didn’t want to be bothered.

“G’way, Thomas,” he managed to grunt.

“It’s me.”

Your voice was clear as crystal to him, but he knew it couldn’t be real. You had left him, after all.

The image of you driving away from his house was burned into his memory, playing over and over again in slow motion. If he thought hard enough, he could even remember the way your body had felt beneath his, whining and squirming and gasping, just like he’d always dreamed about. He could remember the sunken expression on your face the next morning, the heavy silence of the car ride to the coffee shop. He could remember how he’d hoped, so badly, that you’d finally talk about it, this unspoken connection that could no longer be denied. Most of all, he remembers the way his heart dropped when you told him that you didn’t remember any of it.

Another gentle brush, this time along his hairline, and he managed to open his eyes just a sliver.

You looked amazing. Well, there were circles under your eyes, you were wearing your pajamas and slippers, and you were frowning in concern, but to Harry, you were the most beautiful thing.

“You’re here… y’really here….” he sighed.

You were crouched in front of him, holding a plastic cup of water, and all he wanted to do was pull you into his chest. You looked sleepy and cosy, just like you always did when you stayed over. Before he could reach out to pull you close, you were putting the rim of the cup against his bottom lip.

He took it, grateful for the relief it provided his dry mouth. For the first time since he came to, he took in his surroundings. He was in a single stall bathroom, curled on the floor next to the toilet. The walls were an ugly pale yellow, while the floors were white, making the streaks of dirt and grime more noticeable than ever. Thomas was leaning against the sink across the room, watching you as you tried to get him to finish the cup.

“Y’look so pretty, always look so good,” Harry slurred, “just wanna snuggle, like we always do.”

He loved the way your mouth dropped open. Everything about you was endearing, really. He watched as you twisted your head to say something to Thomas, water sloshing around in the cup when you nodded your head quickly. Thomas left immediately after, but Harry hardly even noticed.

When you turned back around to face him, he felt blinded. Despite the dark circles under your eyes, they’re bright and they pierce through him just like always. He loves the color of your skin and the shape of your nose and the little crease that forms between your eyebrows when you’re anxious. He thinks he could probably paint you with his eyes closed.

Warmth licked across his skin when you brushed your fingertips against his forehead, tucking a stray lock of hair back into place. Harry leaned into your touch, unwilling to let the moment pass too quickly.

“Can you try taking a sip of water, H?” You tilted your head. “For me?”

He could have laughed, had he not been so nauseated. He would do anything for you normally, but he really did feel awful. “G’na make me sick,” he insisted, wrinkling his nose at the cup in your hand. Even though he could hardly focus, his eyes zeroed in on the faded X scrawled in sharpie on the back of your hand, a souvenir from your night out at TAVERN. He had a matching mark on his hand, and he dreaded the moment the ink would wash off fully. Just another thing forgotten.

He just wanted you.

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the look on your face told him that it had slipped out. There was no way he regretted it though, not with you right in front of him. Not in this state of mind.

“It’s gonna make you feel better, and then we can go home,” you urged softly, scooting a tiny bit closer to him.

Home. When he thought of home, he thought about mornings in his house, sunlight filtering in through the blinds and leaving shadowed stripes across your skin. Home was the way you squinted your eyes tighter together right before waking up. Home was you at his kitchen table, going off at him about not doing his dishes.

“Y’coming home w’me?” He managed to say. Your eyes softened.

“Only if you drink this whole cup,” you lifted it up to him once again, gingerly tilting his head up with a finger on his chin. Even though he felt like his stomach would combust if tried to swallow anything, he allowed you to help him drink some water. Some sloshed messily onto his shirt, but it felt sobering. You met his eyes for a moment, “is that good?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

If you asked him to drink water, he would drink water. He would drink an entire ocean of water. It was achingly clear to literally everybody but you. He could tattoo your name over his heart and you still wouldn’t see.

You gulped loudly, but didn’t say a word, simply prompting him to take another sip of water. He wished more than anything that you’d say something. Make some kind of facial expression. He just wanted a signal, a sign, that you felt anything towards him; disgust, affection, pity.

He was sure you must pity him.

Harry drank the rest of the water, cheeks burning as he asked you for a refill. He was still drunk, but the fog had cleared enough for him to sit up straight without feeling like he was going to hurl. He watched you refill the cup in the sink that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in decades, but that was honestly the least of his concerns.

“Y’must think I’m pathetic,” he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back against the wall. “Can’t lose you.”

“You haven’t lost me,” he heard you say quietly.

But it felt like he had. Because even though you were friends, it wouldn’t be the same if he couldn’t fall asleep to the sound of your soft exhales. It wouldn’t be the same if he couldn’t feel that rush of excitement when you sneakily texted him under the table on nights out. Having you at a distance could never be enough.

“Harry…” you sighed, rubbing your eyes, “why did you drink so much tonight?”

If your obliviousness hadn’t been so devastating, he would have laughed. How could you sit here with him, look into his eyes, and not see that his heart was entirely in your hands? How could he explain anything to you if you hadn’t already seen it?

So he wouldn’t try. Not right now.

He mustered up the strength to push up onto his knees, managing to stand up fully with your steady grip on his arms. He took one shaky step as his head spun, and felt your arms snake around his waist to keep him balanced. Without even thinking about it, he wrapped his arm over your shoulder, reveling in the feeling of having you so close as you helped him out of the toilet.

You brought him to a stop in the main room by the bar, and he couldn’t help but bury his nose into the top of your head. You smelled just like you always did. It had only been a few nights, but your scent was already fading on his bedsheets.

“Y’smell like lavender,” he hummed, squeezing your arm lightly, “s’like you’re tryin; t’torture me…. So pretty.”

It really was torture, having you hold onto him as you both walked out of the pub. You were distracting, with your warm skin and soft hands. Each step was difficult; his feet were heavy as anvils and he just wanted to curl up right here on the sidewalk.

Just as he was considering plopping down on the pavement, he heard the familiar beep of your car opening. He closed his eyes once he was sat in the passenger seat, feeling you fuss over his seatbelt. He flinched slightly when you slid a cold water bottle between his knees.

Harry blinked, and then suddenly you were buckled in behind the steering wheel, poking his arm and peering at him with tired eyes. “Can you stay awake for me, H? Just till we get to your house, okay?”

“Y’coming to my house?”

You were so good to him, all the time. By the looks of your attire, you were ready to be in bed hours ago, yet here you were, patient as ever.

“Yes, I’m taking you home,” you said through a yawn.

“Miss having you at my house,” Harry exhaled. He didn’t even know what he was saying really, just the same thoughts and memories circling through his mind like planets around the sun, all them centered on you. “My sheets don’t smell like you anymore.”

Suddenly, he felt hot all over. His trousers were too scratchy against his skin, his palms felt clammy, and the longer you stayed silent on the other side of the car, his stomach started turning. In an effort to cool off and calm down, he let his head fall against the window, the cool glass soothing his skin.

Drunk or not, he was trying to tell you how he feels, he was constantly trying to tell you how he feels… and you didn’t say a word. You never did. It was so frustrating that he found himself biting back tears.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you cleared your throat. “You can’t…” your voice cracked, “you can’t say things like that, Harry. It hurts me when you say things like that.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Harry managed to say. “But it’s the truth.”

He was so confused. How on earth could you be hurting when he was sitting here with his arms wide open? Was he so repulsive that the mere thought of being with him caused you pain, somehow?

He was too drunk for this.

Luckily, you seemed to be on the wavelength. “Let’s just… not talk,” you said, shoulders slumped.

Harry was feeling awfully dejected himself. He’d spent the last few days trying to cope with his complicated feelings, and now he was back at square one. Every time he thought he knew where the two of you stood, you would say something vague and he would start all over. Your relationship was like a house of cards; delicate, fragile, and knocked to the ground with the slightest shift, the tiniest gust of wind.

The headache started out small, but by the time you pulled your car into Harry’s driveway, he was feeling like he might keel over. Somehow, he was simultaneously drunk and hungover. If he was going to make it up the stairs to his room, he was going to need something in his stomach, and water that wasn’t from a pub bathroom.

It was humiliating enough that he’d needed you to help him from the car, but upon entering his house, he nearly kicked his shoe through the living room window, grumbling about toast. He knew he’d been less than impressive tonight, but perhaps this was what you needed -- seeing him at rock bottom -- to finally open up and have a real conversation about what you could be.

When he woke up in the morning, he would be sober, and he would be ready. He would make you coffee like he always does, and maybe he’d even run out and pick up fresh pastries.

“Want some toast,” he said, though he was fairly certain he’d said it once already.

You were standing in front of him, toes just inches apart, and it felt instinctive to place his hands on your waist and pull you in. The silk pajama top you were wearing was cool against his hands, but he could feel the heat of your skin underneath, the frantic thumping of your heart against your ribcage tickling his fingertips.

Your hands were on his shoulders to keep him steady, but he was suddenly feeling more sober than he had all night. All day, really.

Harry slid his hands further behind you, locking together behind your back. Having you close felt incredible. It hadn’t even been three days since he last saw you, yet every atom in his body was craving your touch.

“You, um,” he felt your shaky whale against his collar bone, “you have to let go of me if you want me to make you toast.”

Letting go of you felt physically impossible, so instead, Harry dipped his head down and rested his forehead against yours. The anticipation was excruciating as he waited for you to do what you always did: sink into his arms, wrap yourself around him, soothe him to sleep with the weight of your head on his chest.

Fissures cracked through his heart when you pushed him back, taking a single step back that may as well have been a mile. Suddenly, the air all around him felt cold, the room felt darker, the silence felt louder. He took a deep breath in, but still felt like he was suffocating.

“Do you really not remember?”

He needed to know. He had done everything in his power to think about anything else, but had somehow ended up here, standing face to face with you. He wonders if this is how it was supposed to be, if throwing you together over and over again was the universe’s ultimate plan, if all of this misery would be worth it in the end.

He’d experienced heartbreak before, but this was something else. And when you choked out, “Harry, please don’t make me say it,” in the smallest voice he’d ever heard you use, he knew that he could write millions of records about the pain of this moment, and still never do it justice.

“You remember, don’t you?”

All you did was nod your head once, but he suddenly felt drained. Maybe it was the full day of heavy, reckless drinking… or maybe it was the realization that things really might not work out. He still wanted to try, though. Even though you’d left the other day, there were countless other times you had stayed. For months you’d been coming over in secret, coming out of your shell and showing him how amazing you really were. That had to count for something; there had to be a reason.

Coffee. He would make coffee in the morning and the two of you would fix everything.

“Should we head to bed? ‘S getting kind of late, y’must be exhausted.”

You really did look tired, your eyes rimmed with red from yawning over and over, back hunched and shoulders slumped. He was feeling knackered himself, and was more than ready for this night to be over.

“Actually… I think I’m gonna head back home,” you gulped. Harry felt like he’d been slapped, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. It’s as if you’d turned to sand; there one moment and slipping through his fingers the next.

“You don’t want to stay?” Harry tried to keep his voice even, but even he could hear how it wavered. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying.

“I just… have to go home,” you said, looking everywhere but at him.

He waited for you to say something else, but instead watched as you hoisted your purse further up onto your shoulder and walked out the door. Shell shocked, he stood there frozen, even as your headlights disappeared down the street.

A long breath blew past his lips as he finally moved to lock his front door, any hope of you walking back through it dashed by the way you’d walked out for a second time.

Harry likely would have benefited from a glass of water and pain medication, but with a buzzing brain and a shattered heart, all he could manage was to pass out on the couch fully clothed, dreaming about what might have been if you had just stayed.

~~~

As always, let me know what you think! I love talking to you <3 xoxoxoxox Tile

93 notes · View notes

wheelsupnthirty · 4 years

Text

talk too much || f.w.

x slytherin fem!reader

hi all! this is my first whole length fic i've written, but i simp so hard for fred weasley. its based loosely on the song "talk too much" by COIN (i suggest listening half way through!) anyway, hope you enjoy!

tw: swearing, kissing, mention of violence (playfully)

studying in the hogwarts library used to be a peaceful experience. that is, until a certain red-haired duo decided that the library was to be their new prank-planning office.

"you know who we should hit next fred?" the first asked.

"i bet i do brother" returned the second

"snape!" they shouted in unison.

you groan and turn yourself around to face the ginger pair that had made your last two weeks a living hell. "will you two shut it?"

they laugh at your way-too-serious remark and george decides to speak first.

"oh! look who's getting feisty, eh brother?"

"indeed she is, george, shall we shut it?"

"hmm i don't think so"

"well will you gits at least use a silencing charm or something? merlin you weasleys talk too much"

"alright alright y/l/n we'll keep it down, all in good fun"

good fun. right. it's always good fun when you fail your o.w.l.s because you had nowhere to study in peace. you'd tried the slytherin common room, but malfoy and his crew ruined that quite quickly. the great hall was packed constantly, and the room of requirement felt cold compared to the welcoming walls filled with old books and warm lighting that the library gave you. the worst part about it all was that you had begun to fancy the very boy who caused you so much frustration. you guess he wasn't too horrible in terms of looks, but that mouth never stopped running.

on the way to your potions class, your favorite, but filled with people who ticked you off the most, you almost had a heart attack, courtesy of one frederick weasley. he had been developing a new "device" that spit out mini fireworks out of thin air. his lab rat? you.

"what the fuck weasley? what in the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

in between fits of laughter he managed to get out "new project" and "havent-(hahaha)-name-(snort)-yet"

"i swear to merlin fred, one more prank and i swear i'll shove a firework up your arse" you spat out, gathered your books and silently cursed all past, present and any future weasleys.

"today, students, we will be making amortentia, i'm sure you're all familiar, so get busy" echoed the nasally voice of one severus snape. of course, you listened and began reading the directions that were neatly inked onto the parchment in front of you. to no one's surprise at all, you were the first to finish, and you had made it perfectly. the only problem was that snape decided to "suggest" that those who had successfully brewed their amortentia should share with the rest of the class what their's smelled like. you weren't worried at first, until you smelled yours.

"miss y/l/n, you will go first"

"erm," you wafted the mist to your nose, "smoke" specifically from a firework, but you were not about to say that out loud. "sweets, and cinnamon." you stepped back from your cauldron and tried not to think about the smell that you first identified. it was just from earlier. there was no way that fred weasley was going to be your soulmate. your stupid crush on him was simply a coping mechanism for his idiotic pranks that plagued you..right?

"thank you, miss y/l/n. mister weasley- not you george- since you think this class is so hilarious, you will go next"

you shot up and looked at fred, hoping that what he'd smell wasn't you, but he noticed your gaze. "no problem professor!" he said cheerfully with a smirk, and a wink tossed at you. "mine smells of mint and-" he took a bigger, more dramatic sniff, "lavender" he said, a tad more serious than just a second before. only you seemed to notice, though, as no one else seemed to think anything of it.

fred sat back down next to his counterpart and put on his usual jovial personality for everyone to see. you can't stop thinking about your potion, though. it was just your robes. just leftover from his prank. suddenly, a paper airplane hits the side of your head. you sigh and roll your eyes, because you know just who it came from.

gryffindor common room, 11:00 tonight. please. we need to talk. f.w.

no way in hell you were meeting him there. it was probably just another prank. you want him to know that you know what he's up to, so you crumble the piece of parchment right in front of him.

later that evening, you escape to the library, but only when you've made sure there were no freckled, ginger men infesting it. studying, however, proved extremely difficult. you wanted to know what fred wanted. your curiosity seemed to take control of your actions as you stood up and made your way to the gryffindor common room. you snuck up to the fat lady and she looked at you, eyebrow raised, and very plainly asked, "password?" shit you didn't even think about needing a password. before you could utter a gibberish guess, the painting opened and fred crept out from behind it.

"you came, good" he said, genuinely relieved that you had showed up.

"what is it you want, weasley?" you whispered, slightly annoyed with yourself for ending up here in the first place.

"amortentia. mint and lavender. d'you know who that is?" he asked you.

"why would i know who your soulmate is, fred? and why do you care anyway? it's not like you're gonna find them tonight."

"and here i though you were brilliant, y/n" you were shocked, that was the first time he had ever called you by your first name.

"if you wanted to annoy me, you could have just pulled another dumb prank. shoved some fizzing whizbees in my coffee or something. you didn't have to call me here" with that, he had given up, putting on his normal persona.

"you're right, thanks for the idea y/l/n i'll have to try it on you sometime. i'm sure george will get a kick out of it as well. d'you think whizbees or puking pastilles? you know what, i'll surprise you instead!" he smiled. he loved riling you up, you're cute when you're angry.

"you talk too much" you said, and with a turn of your heel, you were on your way back to your dorm.

"and you study too much! you can't take a joke to save your life, y/l/n, maybe one of these days you'll come over here and shut me up yourse-" he was cut off by your lips being newly placed on his. it was all in a feat of shutting him up. then you realized what you had done.

stay cool, it's just a kiss

"why you gotta be so talkative?" you said, impressively keeping your composure. fred, on the other hand, was completely shellshocked, frozen. "what's the matter weasley? never been kissed before?" your words went in one ear and out the other for him. he couldn't care less what your lips said when they weren't on his.

he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to him, earning a gasp from you, which he used to his advantage. he slipped his tongue in your mouth and savored every inch of you. you had forgotten everything you had been mad about before. your hands found his hair and tangled themselves in it. he melted into you, moving his hands to your legs, and hoisting you up around his waist. he carried you to the couch in the middle of the common room, and laid you down quick. amidst all the snogging, you remembered your anger from before and promptly pulled away.

"i.. i have to go. this was a mistake." you said quietly, trying to compose yourself enough to leave the couch.

"was it? it was you i smelled, y/n. the mint from your toothpaste? the lavender from your perfume? it's always been you." he sounded so sincere, something you'd never thought in a million years you'd hear. "stay, please"

he leaned toward you again and cupped your cheek in his hand. he pulled you just close enough that you would have to close the gap between you. you hesitated for a moment, but kissed him again. he seemed to mimic your every move with complete perfection. he linked his fingers with yours and deepened the kiss until you had to come up for air. you stared into his cinnamon eyes for what seemed like eternity until you noticed movement in the corner of the room. fred followed your eyes and said,

"george what the hell mate? how long you been standin' there?"

"oi don't let me get in the way of your snogging, simply left my books down here." he replied, with the cheekiest wink you had quite possibly ever seen. your face grew hot and you shuffled out from under fred, making your way quickly out of the common room. fred wasn't letting you get away that easy, though.

"same time tomorrow?" he asked slyly.

"in your dreams, weasley." you half-jokingly replied. you knew he'd be in yours tonight.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x slytherin!reader #slytherin #gryffindor #fred and george #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #hogwarts #harry potter #fred x y/n #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n

155 notes · View notes

onceuponachole · 4 years

Text

Touchy/11

Woah, the first drabble I’ve written on tumblr! A lot of people I know follow my wattpad account (cringe) so I’m doing this now!

Concept: Although 11 is known for being quite touchy with no sense of personal space, he’s always been a little more so with one of his companions.

-----------------------------

Per usual aboard the Tardis, it was fizzing with excitement. Giddiness was apparent throughout the console room, followed by the chipper hums and whirs of the Doctor’s beloved transportation herself. Speaking of the Doctor, he spun around the console like a child in a toy store, flicking switches and pressing buttons (though he most likely doesn’t know what all of them do). Watching his actions with amusement, Amy Pond’s lips quirked into a knowing smile. The next adventure was going to be a good one.

“Whad’ya think about Florana, eh? Haven’t been there in regenerations! It shouldn’t be too busy this time of year, what with the roses not in bloom yet. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it always makes me feel a hundred years younger!” the Doctor rambled, rocking on his heels and dashing to and fro.

“When have you said that?” I asked, hiding my laughter with a smile. I folded my arms over my chest, leaning against the railing along the middle platform.

“Oh, you know, just once really but I’ve always wanted to say it like that,” he shrugged, finally leaving the console to talk to me and the Ponds.

I laughed, no longer able to keep the feeling from bubbling. Taking the space next to me, the Doctor flashed me his signature grin and dove in to peck my cheek. His nose made contact with my face, brushing my cheekbone, and just like that it was over. I couldn’t help but grin back, feeling my face flush.

He’s always been a bit (okay, a LOT) touchy, not that I mind. Amy’s always said he kisses me more than her or Rory, but I’m not sure I believe it. He’s just the Doctor, he has a funny way of showing his emotions. Recently, however, his small moments of affection have given me a lasting effect. From short spurts of butterflies in my stomach, to an inability to talk without sputtering, he always had a way to make me feel special. It’s one of the downsides of his quirks, having to deal with the feelings after. I’ve never really considered it before, but it makes sense now to say that I’m smitten with him. And as far as I’m concerned, he has no clue.

Rory quirked an eyebrow, “No freaky aliens this time? I don’t want a plant trying to devour us or something.”

“No, no, nothing like that. Although I do suppose...,” the Doctor paused before shaking his head, “nope! No scary baddies out for us this time,” he smiled.

Rory let out a short lived sigh of relief as the Tardis jolted suddenly. A fizz, pop! was heard, followed by sudden darkness from everywhere except the time rotor in the middle. It’s cerulean glow dimmed significantly, making a sort of wheeze. Immediately, the Doctor sprinted to the center and experimentally flicked some levers. I followed, standing just a little behind so he had room to analyze.

“Power must’ve been shut off. Could be due to the amount of timey-wimey-ness...maybe the old girl can’t handle it,” he muttered, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. I pat him on the shoulder encouragingly, which seemed to startle him out of his trance. Gazing at me in the light of the time rotor, eyes gleaming, he snatched my hand from where it was resting at my side and cradled it in his own. His calloused thumb brushed circles over the back of my hand in an effort to comfort me.

I glanced at Amy, who had since shuffled to the opposite end of the console. She gave me a pointed look, mouthing a “see?”. I only shook my head in denial, before returning my attention to the Doctor.

“We could always try to reroute the power, the swimming pool is using an awful lot of it. Maybe there wasn’t enough of it going to the console,” I offered, smiling sheepishly.

“There’s a swimming pool in this thing?” Rory promptly exclaimed.

“Oi,” the Doctor retorted, “she isn’t a thing!”

“Alright you lot, we have bigger fish to fry. It’s gotten chilly in here since you started yabbering,” Amy complained.

“(Y/N)’s not wrong,” the Doctor continued, “it could be that not enough power is being transferred throughout the TARDIS. Rerouting it may be easier said than done though. I’m not sure it’ll work, but we can try!” Swiftly, he descended the stairway to the lower level, pulling me along with him. I looked at Amy and Rory, who both gave me a thumbs up. I rolled my eyes, wiping my free hand on my pants.

Although the lighting was dim, the Time Lord managed to grab his tinkering goggles and grabbed a fist-full of thick cord in the middle of the bunches of other mechanical wonders. I stood back to give him some space, shoes scraping along the steel, web-like floor.

The Doctor yanked on the wires for a few minutes, muttering incoherently, before piping up again. “(Y/N), can you help me out a bit? This hasn’t been moved in a while,” he laughed nervously, offering me his hand once more. I nodded, crouching next to him. He raised his arms in preparation to pull the cord out of it’s socket, but stopped abruptly. “Oh! Can we count down from three? I love three, it’s just such a lovely number.”

I giggled out a response, “Of course! That sounds more coordinated anyway.” We glanced at each other, or the silhouettes of each other, before we counted,

“Three....

Two....

One!”

and we tugged as forcefully as possible. The cord exited the socket aggressively, sending us tumbling. We crash landed with him almost on top of me, his elbow jabbed at my ribs, my legs tangled with his. I winced, sitting up, and the lights flashed back on. The TARDIS whirred appreciatively, resuming it’s normal tasks of whoosing the time rotor and lighting up buttons on the console. The Doctor sat up, grinning, and carefully placed his goggles on the floor next to him. I moved to the left, narrowly escaping his gangly legs, only to be pulled back in again and pecked on the lips. My face ignited in hues of pink, my chest rising and falling faster than normal.

“We did it! Well, actually you did most of the planning and the execution, so I suppose I should hand off the credit to you--” he stopped, mid-sentence, noticing my stunned silence. “What’s wrong?”

I gulped nervously, “Can we t-try that again?” I didn’t make eye contact with him and feared for the worst.

“Try wha- oh. That,” he mumbled, ears going red.

Tears stung my eyes in a fit of embarrassment. I shouldn’t have said anything, oh God he’s going to make me go home--, “I’m so sorry, I won’t do that again haha, I was only joking really, itdidn’tmeananythingIswear,” I sputtered.

The Doctor tilted my chin up with his hand, wiping my face of a tear that escaped. It was horrendously silent for a moment, before he whispered, “Do you like me?”

The tears fell a little harder now, I was mortified. “Yeah,” my voice cracked. “Do you? Like me, I mean?” Sniffling, I finally looked at his eyes. Those gorgeous green eyes, the ones that had seen more than I will ever know and whose intensity matched the thousands of galaxies we’ve flown through.

“More than you’ll ever know,” he replied. He leaned in hesitantly, before making contact with my lips. Kissing me, ever so softly, afraid that I was made of porcelain. I returned his slow passion with my own, resting a hand on the side of his face. I tried to push all of my feelings toward him into his brain, hoping, wishing that he knew how much I yearned for this. We separated, panting, and he smiled a smile so full of love that I felt weak in the knees.

Standing up, he brushed off his classic tweed jacket, and offered me his hand like he had so many times before. Quirking an eyebrow, he asked, “Shall we?”

I took his hand, smiled, still sniffling, and stood, not wanting to let go of him ever again.

“To Florana! Geronimo!”

#doctor who x reader #10th doctor #11th doctor #fanfiction #oneshots #writing #fluff #cute #12th doctor #doctor who #matt smith #david tennant #bbc #fanfic

458 notes · View notes

maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 17: Royality

@tsshipmonth2020 (does this still count so late?)

What’s that? Ly creating content? Unbelievable. (I have writer’s block, leave me alooone /j)

Thanks to @marshymoop for suggestions and encouragment when making this bad boy! Love ya <3

Day 17 - Everyone has heterochromia, one eye is your natural color the other is your soulmate’s natural color. Once you meet all eyes return to natural color.

Content warnings: food/drink mention, alcohol, mentions of hangover, vampires, referring to drinking blood as “eating”, non-explicit blood drinking, being chased.

Word count: 6.9k

THE CITY OF DEWMORE WELCOMES YOU

Patton tapped his fingers on the steering wheel excitedly, nearly vibrating as he passed the weathered sign. Beyond it, beckoning him forward, stood a forest more densely packed and darker than he’d ever had the pleasure of exploring, the achingly tall pine trees swaying minutely in the breeze, their tips barely visible through the blanket of fog. Just imagining what could be held within those depths made his leg bounce; forgotten, moss-drenched stone paths, broken stumps of fallen trees that hadn’t made a sound upon impact, patches of mushrooms scattered in the shadows, and whispering creeks. It was the perfect way to spend his spring break, and one his photography teacher had wholeheartedly encouraged him to take. If he hadn’t had so many midterms to mark, Patton was almost sure the man would have tried to join him.

Almost an anxious tic at this point, he ran his free hand over the photography bag in his passenger seat, as if to make sure it hadn’t disappeared in the three minutes since he’d last checked. The thing was his prized possession, given to him by the very same photography professor at his university. It had been the elder’s own, before he got his newest camera, and gifted the whole set to his favorite (but don’t tell the others) students. It was full of perfectly kept lenses and two miniature tripods, extra batteries and memory cards, speedlights, and most importantly, the camera tucked safely into the biggest pouch. It was more expensive than Patton would ever have dreamt to buy, so it was truly a gift he’d never forget. Now it was up to him to finally take some shots worthy of the thing.

The forests continued to grow denser and thicker until, in almost a shocking snap, they disappeared to reveal a quaint city that he hadn’t quite expected. The first few buildings he passed looked like they may have stood there for hundreds of years, weather worn and faded. Their signs were either scratched to nothingness or blaringly new, shining metal names standing out against an ancient backdrop. He was looking for a motel, figuring there had to be one, even in a town of less than two thousand people. His backup plan was to just sleep in his car. He’d brought his sleeping back and extra blankets, so it wasn’t a huge concern, but he’d still prefer a bed. But whenever he’d tried finding anything online, he’d come up blank.

A fog still covered the town, and though it created an air of calm and mystery that Patton was itching to capture, he also knew the area was surrounded by towering mountains that he also desired so badly. To his right, the buildings stopped abruptly, revealing a grey beach, all rocks and no sand, criss crossed with logs, opening to a dark lake. The other side wasn’t visible through the mist.

The further he drove, he realized the buildings weren’t improving in their modernity, just giving way to more and more old infrastructure. One stood out, a grocery store, it’s lights piercing through the evening dim. Patton didn’t get a look inside before he passed, once again surrounded antique houses and shops, a post office to his left, and a tavern just across from that. A sign above the door read “Vacancy” in peeling white letters, and that was all the enticing Patton needed to pull his car into the gravel parking lot in front of the building. There was only one other vehicle there, a matte red pickup truck that he parked next to, and what appeared to only be three more parking spots. From the high placed windows, a soft orange light bled, and a round of raucous laughter filtered through the cracked open door. Patton smiled. The photographer inside him was going to have a field day here.

He stepped up the concrete steps and ruffled his hair with one hand so it covered his eye, heaving a sigh in hopes to calm his nervous butterflies, and pulled the door open.

All at once, the chatter inside died, and Patton internally shrank as every face in the tavern turned to look at the newcomer. There was a moment of tense silence as he tried his best for a smile and met the gaze of the men scrutinizing him, drinks forgotten on high wooden tables, jubilance halted. Patton waited with baited breath, for someone to do something, why were they all just staring, when a voice spoke from behind the bar.

“Don’t worry about them, sweetheart. We don’t get a lot of new people around here.”

And the lull was broken as suddenly as it started, the men now ignoring him in favor of joking over mugs of fizzing ale. Patton swallowed thickly and turned to the voice, shoving his quivering hands into his pockets and shaking his head again to assure the curls were safely covering his eye. As usual.

The man standing before him, leaning on the bar with an easy smile, was almost enough to take Patton’s breath away. If he were a religious man, he’d go so far as to call him heavenly. Eyes as dark as the depths of the surrounding forests, auburn hair pushed back from his face in what he could only think to describe as an intentional bedhead. His skin was too flawless, teeth just a couple shades too white, everything perfect in a way that was almost…

Patton couldn’t put his finger on it.

“What can I get you, newbie?”

“Uhm-” Patton took a cleansing breath and sat at one of the barstools, all of them empty seeing as the crowd seemed more drawn to the tables in the center of the room, “I don’t come to bars that often. I don’t know.”

The bartender hummed, pushing up his already rolled up white sleeves and giving Patton a once over, almost investigating him. “You drink?”

“I… I guess.”

“Been on the road for a while, tired?”

“Do I look that exhausted?” Patton breathed a laugh, suddenly aching to pop his spine. He’d been driving since before dawn for the past three days, barely hunkering down for a decent sleep before he was off again. He’d been really excited to get here, plus he didn’t want to waste more of his meager break driving.

“I got just what you need, darling.” With a wink, the bartender straightened up and pulled down a series of bottles, cracking his knuckles with flourish before measuring them into a silver canister. “So what brings you to Dewmore?”

“I’m a photographer,” Patton said, “Or, a photography student. Down in Florida.”

The man whistled as he shoveled ice cubes into the mix, “Long drive for some pictures.”

“I’m… dedicated,” Patton laughed, scratching at his neck nervously. “My prof recommended it, said it might be a nice place to spend my break.”

“I assume you’re looking for a place to stay then, as well?” He plopped a cap on the canister and began to shake it above his shoulder, grinning widely, “These guys are always just like, ‘Gimme a beer’ this, ‘Gimme a beer’ that. It’s great to actually make fun drinks again.” With hands flying too fast for Patton to process, he grabbed a glass, popped the lid of the shaker, and poured the deep orange drink, tossing on a green sprig and sliding the drink over. “Enjoy.”

Patton took a cautious sip of the drink and had to fight not to sigh, the refreshing taste a welcome relief after three days of gas station Gatorade and hotel sink water. He could barely taste any alcohol, more focused on the ice cold sweet tartness at the back of his tongue. The bartender looked pleased, huffing a satisfied laugh and beginning to put away his bottles. He was taking another sip, satisfied with the backdrop of joyous chatter and clinking glasses, when he remembered why he’d come in.

“Yes, I am. Uhm, looking for a place to stay, that is.”

The bartender looked at him over his shoulder, “We haven’t had visitors in… a while, at least. You’ve pretty much got your pick of the rooms.”

“Do you have anything facing the water?” He took another sip, the photo possibilities already flowing through his mind. One through the window, just far back enough to catch the flow of the curtains and the chipped wood of the window ledge, a monochromatic lakeshore in the bottom third, a barely visible mountain looming ahead…

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Let me just finish this up, and I’ll get you on the ledger.”

“Patton.” He downed the rest of the drink and rested his elbow on the counter, chin in his palm, an easy smile playing on his lips.

“Hm?”

“My name’s Patton.”

“I’m Roman.” Tossing the towel over his shoulder, Roman gave him another wink before disappearing into the back room, coming back moments later with a thick black book. He was already thumbing through the pages, finally landing on the one he wanted, and spun a pen between his fingers.

“What’s your last name, sweetheart?”

Patton spelled it out for him, and was surprised when the man clapped the book shut after the final letter. “That’s all you need?”

“Yup.”

“No… ID, or anything?” It was at that moment when it occurred to Patton that, although he was legal, his baby face often prompted bouncers and servers back home to ask for identification. Roman hadn’t even blinked before serving him.

“Got anything to hide?”

“Uhm… no, I-”

“Good enough for me. It’s not like we’re a high traffic tourist spot. I don’t think we’ve had anyone take a room in, like, two years, and who knows how many before that. Frankly, I wouldn’t care if you were on the run for murder. Don’t kill me, and we’re solid.”

Patton blanched, unable to tell if the man was being sarcastic. Finally his expression cracked into a smirk and he brandished a key towards Patton, dangling it by the ring. “I’m messing with you. I mean, don’t kill me, that’s legit. Here you go, cutie. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, he sashayed away with a tray of beers (when on Earth had he filled those?), and the men whooped loudly, startling Patton.

“Easy, boys,” Roman purred, beginning to round the tables, and Patton hopped off the bar stool to get his things from his car. He couldn’t wait to pass out in bed with the knowledge that he could sleep in however late he wanted.

-0-0-0-

But apparently sleep didn’t have the same ideas as him, because even after he was in comfortable clothes and tucked into the covers, he continued to toss and turn. Maybe it was the concept of being alone in a strange town, or the full moon shining through the thin curtains, or just plain excitement, but he suddenly felt wider awake then he had since he started this trip.

There was a soft rattling somewhere across the room and, with begrudging acceptance that he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, fumbled his glasses on to search for the offending sound. With a grumble, he threw off the blankets and padded across the room to the window and tossed back the curtains, giving the moon a scalding glare for shining so darn brightly. It was the window, fitted loosely in its frame, being shook by the gentle wind that was causing the noise. Patton gave it an experimental tug, followed by a more forceful yank, and found it didn’t budge down at all. Instead, it continued to rattle mockingly, in what sounded almost like whispered giggles as he crossed his arms across his chest.

Fine. He turned his attention to the scenic view before him, letting out a minute shudder as a small gust of wind blew through his thin pajama shirt. Moonlit waves crashed against the rocky shore, tossing up silver spray against the dark backdrop of the forest. Patton took a breath, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace just staring at the silent town, the stone spires rising above the forest-

Wait, what?

Patton blinked sharply a couple times, leaning forward until his nose bumped the window and squinting through the glass. Those… things... definitely looked like manmade objects- the shape made it impossible for them to be natural- but you’d think he’d remember something that looked like a castle directly outside his window. In fact, he’d spent a significant amount of time upon first entering the room just admiring the view, and a castle one hundred percent would have been on his radar. Oh, if the thing was abandoned, imagine the photo opportunities, and even if it wasn’t he could totally just get some of the outside-

Yeah, there was no way he was sleeping now.

Before he’d even processed what he was doing, he’d slipped out of his pajamas and hurriedly pulled on the outfit he’d laid out on the desk chair, because there was no way he was digging through his suitcase to scrounge out more clothes. He threw a beige sweater over his white shirt, however, remembering the chill the night had brought and, after he’d adequate tucked them into his slacks, he threw his camera bag over his shoulder and trotted down the stairs.

Unsurprisingly, the first floor tavern was empty of all customers, overhead lights traded for softer electric lamps on the walls and the illuminated sign above the bar, where Roman was wiping down the counter, seemingly unbothered by the late hour.

“Can’t sleep, sweetheart?” The bartender called out without turning around, tossing his rag across the counter and into a full soapy bucket behind the bar.

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Patton responded, shaking his bangs so they covered his eye. “I think I’m just too excited to start getting shots.”

“Mmm, you and me both.” He waggled his eyebrows and pulled a bottle of what looked like whiskey off the shelf. “What’s your poison?”

Patton snorted but shook his head, patting his camera bag, “I want to go out, and it’s probably not smart to drink before going out in a strange town at night.”

Roman shrugged before pouring himself a shot and downing it in one smooth motion.

“You’re allowed to drink on the job?”

The bartender hummed, replacing the bottle and locking the cabinet presumably for the night, “Once my tavern is empty, I consider myself off the clock. And I’m my own boss, so I hereby give myself the night off. I have a coffee machine in the back room, one of those Keurigs, if you want something fancy. Hasn’t been used in ages, but I’m sure if you wanted something, I-”

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Patton ducked his head and messed with his shirt, making sure the white collar stood above the neck of his sweater. He made his way over to the bar and took the same stool as before, leaning on the counter as Roman dumped out the dirty cleaning water into the sink. The clock above the bar, barely illuminated enough to see, revealed it was just after midnight. “Are there any old structures, like churches or anything, in the forest?”

Roman tilted his head, giving Patton a look over his shoulder he couldn’t quite understand.

“There’s nothing there besides wolves and ticks, sweetheart,” he said slowly with an almost condescending smile, “Why? Hoping the little town in the middle of nowhere has a mystery?” He rinsed out the bucket and placed it in the cabinet under the sink.

Patton shrugged, scratching at his temple, “I saw something outside of my window.”

“Like a tree?” The rag was rinsed as well and draped over the faucet.

“No, definitely not.” He tried not to feel too offended that Roman was clearly teasing him, but he was certain what he’d seen hadn’t been a tree. They were too tall, too angular, and too symmetrically placed for that.

“Pattycake, I grew up hunting with my dad and partying in those woods, and I would know if something were there.”

“Are you sure?” Patton implored, “There’s definitely something man made, could it be, like, an old castle, or something?”

There was a moment of silence between the two as Roman continued to look at Patton like he was crazy, the barest hints of an impish grin tugging at his lips, before he sucked in a sharp breath; as if he realized something.

On a dime, Roman’s expression contorted into one of anger, eyes alight with fury as he leaned into Patton’s space. As he spoke, his voice almost reverberated, like a choir speaking in unison.

“There is nothing in those woods, Patton. Understand? Don’t go wandering into places you don’t belong, or you won’t like what you find.”

Patton reared back from the forceful words, hand coming up subconsciously to readjust the hair on his face. Roman leaned just a tad closer, growling out a warning, “Got it, sweetheart?” The electric lamps on the walls, once creating such a homey, soft environment, suddenly flickered and Patton flinched, whipping around to face the large room as it seemed to strobe under the malfunctioning lights. Goosebumps spread across his arms as the flashing grew faster and his hand clamped over the back of his neck when a shiver raced up his spine.

“What’s going on? Why are-”

And then the lights went out completely, an eerie quiet settling over the tavern. Roman was silent. Was he even still in the room? Could he have left so quickly? The only sound in the empty room were Patton’s shaky breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, as he fought down a scream. He wasn’t a fan of the dark.

A single street light barely shone through the window, too dim to even light up the tables near the glass, and Patton turned to focus on it. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In… out… in… out-

A silhouette appeared in the window.

The lights were back to their original gleam before he could even open his mouth to scream, filling the room with a dull hum as if nothing had even happened. Blinking rapidly, Patton took a calming breath (it’s just old lights, it’s just old lights, relax) and swiveled back in his chair to find that Roman was smiling at him innocently, cleaning out a glass with a rag.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

“Didn’t you see that?” Patton asked incredulously.

“See what?” The bartender placed the glass into the last space in a row of them, giving Patton that same condescending grin as before.

Patton sighed and lifted his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly, shaking his head. “I think travelling for so long has me seeing things.” Careful as ever, in the same fashion he’d so masterfully perfected in elementary school, he shook his head to cover his eye- his stupid, left, ‘soulmate’ eye- before removing his hands and letting his glasses fall back into place.

Other kids won’t like it, sweetie. I don’t think the teachers will either.

I know you can’t help it, my love. If I could take this burden from you, I would. But this is yours to handle until… well, you know.

I don’t know why, Patton. You’ll find them someday. And then you’ll understand.

“Why do you do your hair like that?”

“Hmm?” Patton blinked.

Roman smirked, leaning casually on the counter in front of Patton, “Covering half of your face like that. You shouldn’t, you know. You’re a stunner.” With that, he reached forward, intent on moving that hair out of his face.

No.

“NO!” Patton yelled, stumbling off the barstool just as Roman’s hand made contact with his face. He ducked his head, roughly scraping his hair back in place with shaking hands, but the damage was done. A single cute guy compliments him and he forgets the habit he’s built up for years? How could he be so stupid-

“Everything alright? I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetheart.”

Was it possible he hadn’t seen it? Maybe Patton had moved fast enough, maybe the bartender had been too surprised to get a good look, maybe everything was fine. Roman didn’t seem horrified, or at all perturbed. Instead, he just looked… worried.

Either way, after that reaction, Patton was aching to be left alone to stew in his embarrassment. His rented room held nothing for him that he wanted, and sleep felt farther than ever, so his only choice was outside. The promises of a maybe-crumbling ancient building, illuminated by a full moon, were far more tempting than anything inside had to offer.

“Actually,” Patton said nervously, “A coffee would be great.”

Roman squinted at him, biting on the inside of his cheek before huffing a breathy laugh through his nose. “Alright, darling. Give me just a second to dust off the Keurig.”

The moment he disappeared behind the door to the backroom, Patton tightened his hold on the camera bag and sprinted from the tavern, into the grips of the cool night.

-0-0-0-

What would he say when he got back to the tavern? Would Roman make him leave the inn? Had he crossed a line he hadn’t known existed; would he have to cut his trip early because he couldn’t help his curiosity? Was bothering the only innkeeper in town really the smartest decision to make?

All wonderful questions that Patton wished he’d considered before running.

But if he did have to leave, and if this was his last night in this delightful and equally terrifying little town, he was going to make the most of it. At least, that’s what he’d thought he would do as he’d left the few city lights behind and treading deeper into the forest. He had a flashlight with him, thank goodness, so he wasn’t completely screwed, and he’d already gotten a few great shots. He stayed in the areas that the full moon could still shine through the trees, and some of the clouds had rolled away, so he was having the time of his life working with silhouettes against the star filled sky (thanks to the little to no light pollution Dewmore offered).

The more prominent thought in his mind, however, were the spires steadily growing closer above the treeline. He couldn’t understand what Roman had been talking about. How could anyone living in this town not see whatever he was walking towards?

(Admittedly, curiosity was also a huge reason he was chasing something he’d been warned to avoid. He’d never been that great at impulse control.)

It had to be nearly two in the morning when he came to an incline; a steep path constructed entirely of rocks fist-sized and larger. At the top, Patton could just barely see what looked to be the back of the castle, and he bounced slightly on his toes in excitement. He couldn’t tell from this distance the state it was in, or if it was possible anyone still lived there, but dang it if he wasn’t going to give it a go before he left. He’d walked all this way, after all.

The first few steps up the hill were the loudest thing he’d heard since he’d started his midnight adventure, and he cringed as they dropped away under his feet, knocking against each other as they fell to the ground.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Patton spun around, his flashlight slipping out of his hands. It rolled down between the rocks, casting split second light beams in every direction as it bounced towards the source of the voice, and stopped dead in the middle between the two of them. It settled on an indent created by Patton’s steps, aimed at the newcomer. Patton breathed a sigh of relief.

“Roman, goodness gracious! You scared the bejesus out of me,” Patton laid a hand on his chest and let out a huge gust of air. Roman didn’t move, and for the first time he noticed the absolute glare the bartender was giving him. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uhm… sorry about the… leaving. Thing. Are you mad?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Well, apparently they weren’t going to talk about it. “Oh- I’m sorry, is this private property? I didn’t see any signs, I’m- Wait, but look, Roman! See, that’s what I was talking-”

“You. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.”

Patton blinked at the harshness in his words, taken aback. How was this the same easy going bartender that he’d met earlier tonight? Whatever was beyond this hill, though, Roman obviously wasn’t going to allow Patton to see. Maybe it was dangerous, or something? Either way, he couldn’t deny his disappointment. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ll leave-”

“How did you get here?”

“I… um, walked?”

“No!” Roman hissed, finally stepping forward and plucking up the flashlight from the ground, “You shouldn’t be able to see the castle, or go near it, how the hell did you get here?!”

Before he could answer, the other man froze, whipping around as if he’d heard a noise from his left. And then Patton blinked, and Roman was in front of him, pulling him back down to solid ground. He dragged him by the arm to a fallen tree that was propped up against its own splintered stump, leaving it angled just a few feet off the ground.

“How did you- You were just over there, how-”

“Get down!”

“What?”

“Get. Down!” Roman shoved his shoulders and Patton had no choice but to collapse, blending into a pile of ferns beneath the bend of the tree. “Take off the backpack, put it in front of you. It blends in better than you do.” He yanked off the dark green camera bag as he spoke, situating it in front of Patton. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t fucking breathe, Patton, I swear.” The flashlight flicked off and thumped to the ground as Roman walked away, leaving him standing in the pale moonlight. Patton debated reaching for the flashlight, but that would mean exposing himself from the foliage he was tucked in and under, and Roman had seemed really scared.

There was a rustle in the underbrush in front of Roman, and the photographer shoved his fist into his mouth before he could gasp.

“Roman, it’s so nice to see you back home. It’s been far too long.”

“It’s been hardly a month, mother.”

The woman that emerged from the tree’s shadows wore a black cloak, nearly blending into the forest around her as the fabric swirled hypnotically by her ankles with each step. Silver embroidery made up the tight bodice and strung together the corset front, meeting at the bottom in an intricate knot and trailing almost down to the earth in two strands. How her intricate updo had stayed intact through a walk in the forest, Patton couldn’t understand.

However, if this was Roman’s mother, he did understand where he got his looks. The only word that came to his mind was ethereal; all smooth pale skin, those same impossibly dark eyes, red lips curved in a constant, easy smile. She was beautiful, but she was terrifying, and Patton backed up more into his fern hiding spot.

She lifted her flared sleeves towards Roman as she stepped into the moonlit opening and he pulled her hands towards himself, kissing both of her cheeks before releasing her.

“A month is too long, darling,” She purred, letting the back of her hand trail down his cheek. “I don’t understand why you find it necessary to stay amongst those humans when you could be with your family.”

“Because I want more than just… lounging, and talking with my brothers. Do you have to bring this up every time I visit?” Despite his slightly aggravated tone, he leaned into her touch.

“When you’re older, you’ll look back at these choices with embarrassment and resentment.”

“Maybe.”

“I just don’t want you to blame me when you do.”

“I could never, I promise.”

She sighed heavily, “They miss you, Roman. We all do.”

“Which is why I’m here, mom. You act as if I’ve been gone a millenia.”

“Worrying is what a mother does best,” She smiled fondly, tapping his cheek with her finger, “You’re home, darling. Drop the glamor? It must be tiring keeping it up constantly.”

There was a moment of hesitation, where Patton couldn’t help but tense up along with the man in front of him. Then the air shifted, like it had been holding a breath it could finally let out, and though there was nothing different that Patton could see from Roman’s back, a certain jolt of fear hit him out of nowhere.

“There’s my boy.” The woman drew him in for a proper hug, one hand reaching around his back to rest on his head. She pressed a kiss to his hair when he wrapped his arms around her in turn. Suddenly her nose wrinkled and she pulled away, holding his shoulders at arm’s length. “Dearest, you smell like humans again.”

Roman chuckled, but there was a new quiver in his voice. “The only flaw in being surrounded by them so often. Let me change, and I’ll come meet you for dinner.”

She didn’t move, eyes narrowing as she watched his face. “No… it’s not you.”

“What? What else could it possibly-”

“There’s a human here.” Her voice was utterly calm, but she pushed Roman behind her resolutely. “There must be.”

“What?!”

A low growl filled the air, and it took Patton a few moments to realize the sound was originating from her. She stepped past Roman, her dress flowing soundlessly along with her as she glared into the woods around them.

Her eyes flashed red.

Once again, Patton shoved his fist into his mouth to hide a scream. That same alien jolt of fear returned as she moved closer to him, seemingly zeroing in on his location.

“Mother, come now. You’re being silly. Humans can't even come near here, remember? You made sure of that yourself!”

Patton tore his eyes away from the advancing woman and his breath caught in his throat. Roman had followed his mother, trying to placate her gently with a hand on her arm, and in doing so, had turned towards Patton’s hiding spot.

When Patton opened his eyes shortly after being born, he was taken away from his mother, despite his parent’s strong objections and his wails. He was returned hours later, much to their relief. On his birth certificate, his right eye was labeled blue. His left eye, the side usually taken by the natural color of his soulmate’s, was labeled ‘Defective’.

When he was set to start school at six years old, his mother sat him down on his bed and taught him how to properly cover his left eye with his hair. They’d grown it out enough to do so. Patton had asked why it was necessary, and subsequently learned the truth that not all people were as accepting and loving as his parents.

When he was ten, he returned home from school crying. He dropped into his mother’s arms and she held him until his sobs turned to sniffles, until he could explain between sharp breaths that a bully at school had revealed Patton’s eye while trying to force him into a fight, and… well, his classmates hadn’t taken it well. Those who weren’t downright afraid of him, refused to eat or sit with him anymore. But it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t help it!

His eye was labeled ‘Defective’, because never before had the doctor’s seen a child born with a red eye. Not the pale color that came with pinkeye, or an allergic reaction, but the iris itself was such a bold, blood red color that it had left the team scrambling for any record of such an incident. They were left with more questions than answers. But the world had yet to understand how soulmates worked in the first place, so they chalked it up to another universal mystery.

Every day for as long as he could remember, Patton had stared into a mirror first thing in the morning, greeted with calm, airy blue on one side, and fiery, almost electric red on the other.

So it was jarring to see such a sight, yet reversed, on another person. But as Roman tugged again on his mother’s arm, there was no denying it; the man’s own color was a gleaming ruby, and the other was Patton’s very own blue.

“Mother, look,” Roman blurted out, scooping up the discarded flashlight from the forest floor, “This is a human tool. I’m sure this is what you’re smelling.”

She ripped the device from his hand, shaking it in his face, “That is still far too close to home, Roman! Humans have been here, and I guarantee they are still nearby.”

“And you don’t know how many there are, Mom!” Roman insisted, taking her hands. “It doesn’t matter how they got here, or why they did,” A slow grin spread across his face, highlighting a pair of glinting fangs, “Why don’t you gather the family, and we can find them together? I can’t even remember the last time I really ate.”

The woman was satiated by this answer, though she still cast the forest cautious looks. “Stay put, Roman. We’ll be back shortly.” Her nose wrinkled again. “Along with a change of clothes for you.”

And then she was gone, the only remaining trace being the tiny cloud of dust she’d left behind. Roman was calm for a moment, making sure she was really gone, before his demeanor dropped. The cocky smirk was gone, and he no longer held the confidence he’d had, either as a bartender or in the presence of his mother.

“We don’t have a lot of time, c’mon! Let’s go!” He crouched before the log, extending his hand to Patton.

“What the hell are you?!” Patton shrieked. Interesting, that those were the first words from his jumble of thoughts that came out.

“Oh, come on, do you really need to ask? I’m pretty sure you already know!”

And yeah, Patton was pretty sure he knew. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d had a teen Twilight phase, so of course the obvious answer was there. It just… it wasn’t possible. His brain was scrambling for any kind of other solution, anything that made sense, but it all kept circling to the same answer.

The cute bartender at the inn was a vampire.

…

Okay then.

Next problem.

“I… yeah. I think I got it.”

“Good! Now let’s go!” Roman grabbed Patton’s hand and yanked, effectively pulling him from his hiding place and nearly tearing the arm from it’s socket. Patton stumbled from the sudden movement and tripped on his camera bag, yelping as he crashed into Roman’s chest.

The vampire’s hands instantly wrapped around his waist, steadying him as he found his footing.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m all good, I just-”

Roman was much taller than he’d thought; that was the initial thought that came to mind as he looked up at the man holding him. The second was, well, the fact that his jaw had dropped open upon seeing Patton’s eyes, and for the first time since they’d met, the guy was completely speechless.

Patton felt his left eye began to tingle as they shifted into its own natural color. He ignored it.

“You really didn’t see it? At the bar?” Patton whispered.

“No, you moved too fast,” Roman murmured, bringing a hand up to Patton’s cheek. “You… you’re my-”

He must have sensed something, or heard something that was too quiet for Patton’s ears, because his head whipped towards the castle.

“We need to go. Now.” Roman intertwined their fingers and pulled him into a run towards the town.

“Wait, no! My bag!” He tugged hard to try and get his hand free, but he was truly no match for Roman.

“Not important right now, sweetheart!”

Without the aid of his flashlight, and enveloped by the darkness of the forest, Patton was totally blind, relying only on Roman’s grip to keep him from falling. Branches hit his face and roots reached up to trip him, but every time he stumbled, the hand tightened and pulled him back upright.

A howl cut through the air.

“What now, werewolves?!” Patton shrieked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, werewolves aren’t real!” Roman scoffed, “They’re normal wolves! What, you think just because we’re vampires, we’re unable to have pets?”

“Is this really a conversation we should be having at this exact moment?!” Patton shot back.

“You’re right, you’re right, okay.”

The howls were growing closer, and it was clear by Roman’s increased pace that this wasn’t about to be a friendly reunion.

“Can we outrun them?!”

“I take it you’ve never met a wolf!”

Patton looked up at him desperately, already struggling to keep up the conversation and keep up with Roman.

“I thought vampires had… like, super speed!”

“I wouldn’t be able to go for long, especially carrying you. Jump!”

Patton leapt blindly, feeling the side of a fallen log scrape the toes of his shoes. The landing was rough, sparks of pain shooting up his legs, but he was quickly pulled back upright.

“I don’t have the energy! I haven’t eaten in months!”

There were more yowls, definitely closer this time, followed by the sound of multiple animals fighting, barely louder than a voice shouting (presumably) at the racket. Whether it was the wolves having a spat, or a prey animal that had gotten in the way of the hunt, Patton didn’t know. It drew out a small whimper from him either way.

He didn’t want to be next.

“Do you trust me?” Roman suddenly gasped, holding his hand firmer.

“What?!”

“Do. You. Trust. Me?!”

Patton didn’t exactly think he had a choice right now. His feet were aching, his lungs were burning, and he wasn’t sure he could run another minute without his legs giving out. “I- Yeah! Sure!”

“Good enough,” Roman grunted bitterly, screeching to a halt, and using his grip on the other’s arm to stop him too. Before Patton could even bring himself to complain, or scream at him, or just incoherently yell, the vampire was drawing him to his chest, puppeting his arms so they were around his shoulders.

“Hold on.”

Obediently, Patton tightened the grip. “Why-”

And then there was a sharp pain in his neck, and his eyes widened. The sting almost immediately morphed into a pleasant warmth, the distant howling being replaced by a faint humming, the buzzing of his own mind calming, becoming numb until the only thought in his head was Roman, Roman, Roman-

He could feel Roman’s hand on his head, not restricting it, but cupping the back of it so he could lean against him as he stared up at the night sky, the full moon, and the slow blurring of the tops of the pine trees. His other arm was wrapped around his waist tightly, holding him up, and Patton was beyond grateful for the support as his legs began to turn to jelly. The last thing Patton felt was the vampire scooping up his legs and his head being cradled against the soft material of Roman’s shirt.

Then everything went dark.

-0-0-0-

Patton woke up slowly, squinting against the harsh sunlight streaming through his window. He dropped an arm across his eyes lazily, letting out a low groan at his pounding headache. There were voices downstairs in the tavern, and what sounded like dishes clanging, and he wondered if somehow this place was also a restaurant. How on earth could anybody run an establishment like that? It’s like the place never slept-

A wave of nausea pooled in his gut due to the speed of which he sat up but that wasn’t important, not right now. He flung his blankets back and… oh. He was dressed in his pajamas. Last he could remember, in the woods, running with Roman, he’d been in day clothes, in the sweater and shirt that was now draped on a chair across the room. His camera bag was... on the desk. His shoes were by the door, dirt free.

He raised his finger tips to his neck, expecting to feel a raised scab, or scar, any sign that he’d been bitten. There was nothing.

He swung his legs over the sides of the beds and immediately shut his eyes, fighting off an explosion of dizziness induced sparks that shot across his vision. It sure felt as if he’d lost some blood. As much as he didn’t want to believe he had a hangover from one drink, that could also be an explanation. He’d always been a bit of a lightweight.

A dream. Was it all just… a dream?

A feeling of disappointment washed over him and he sighed, running his hands up through his hair. Something soft snagged on his fingers and he carefully detangled it from the curls, pulling it out curiously. He blinked at the fern leaf between his finger tips. That definitely hadn’t happened between his car, the tavern, or the room... So-

He sucked in a breath sharply as his eyes locked with the mirror’s reflection in front of him, every thought coming to a halt.

Because staring back, for the first time ever, were two perfectly blue eyes.

I have a bunch of world building ideas that weren’t included in this fic, shoot me an ask if you have any lore questions!

General taglist:

@max-is-tired

@private-snippers

@joylessnightsky

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #royality #roman sanders #patton sanders #vampire au #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides au #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction

96 notes · View notes